


Black Womb - Raven's Origins.

by Cyberfrost



Series: My Weird Headcanon - X-Men [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Brian Xavier and Kurt Marko have issues, Christian is a good lawyer, Everyone is a mutant, F/F, F/M, Fiona is acting weird, Genetic manipulation is creepy, Irene is very creepy and has no shame, It came from my brain, Klaus Schmidt is Sharon's grandfather and Charles' great-grandfather, M/M, Magda is a clone, Other, Raven has two fathers. Mutant pregnancy warning, Sharon drinks so she can sleep and stop the feelings., Shaw is Creepy, Weird Headcanon based on comics, What Was I Thinking?, X-pills induce mutations, and they fuel the fic, slash googles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 92
Words: 122,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberfrost/pseuds/Cyberfrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1937 - Kurt Marko and Brian Xavier are research lab partners in Alamogordo, New Mexico, sharing their pet project involving nuclear and genetic research, and their wishful thinking of one day being together in more ways than merely at work. Both would never act upon it, though.</p><p>Destiny however promoted herself to intervene into their messed up relationship, and since that mutantkind would never be the same.</p><p>---</p><p>I know it takes courage and will of mind to read through a multi-chaptered fic with so many words, but I assure you it's worth it...</p><p>---</p><p>Behold the 30'ties! Homossexualism is against the Law, women and black people in general have no respect and no power, and the amoral and imorals Irene Adler, Sebastian Shaw, Nathan Mildbury and Amanda Mueller make sure the world remains their playground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Alamogordo facility, New Mexico, 20th December 1937, Monday.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Artificial fluorescent lights flicker on the ceiling of the basement room where a dark haired man in a lab coat manipulates instruments at a microscope; he squints both eyes, moving his fingers with minute precision, focused on his current task. Within the negative-pressure chamber, he applies enzymes and coenzymes to the petri dishes, meticulously kept at body temperature in rich broth culture fluides such as BHI and blood and chocolate-agarosis.

Stirring them slowly with the glass beaks, one by one, he puts them to grow, finally taking the rubber gloves out, powdering them, then placing them inside the negative pressure chamber to keep them from outside contamination, as he stares at the clock in the far wall behind himself, sighs, then walks to the wall where he hangs his labcoat, takes his trenchcoat, his wallet and takes leave.

Starting his 1937 Ford, he drives slowly down the complex, nodding to the sentinels who open the doors to the outside world. He wasn't rich, but money generated money, and appearing into his actual social circle, where the likes of Brian Xavier paraded, required something better than his older Ford Model A from 1928.

His mind isn't on the nearly absent traffic, though, thoughts moving from the baseline cells from the blood marrow of volunteering humans, to baseline reproductive cells removed from the testicles and ovaries of rhesus monkeys, and their comparisons in biochemical levels, results display neatly in graphs and charts: their behavioural similarities made his colleagues jump in joy, and now everyone in their project group was required to work overtime, so results will be available preferably before the germans can reach the same with their eugenics.

 

Getting home, the rented house where he kept his family, he was greeted by the wail of his only son, followed by the yell of his wife for him to shut up. He shook his head and cursed the day he married.

"Marjorie!!!!! Keep this brat silent, I still have work to do!!!!"

He headed to his office, a cheap wodden table and a cheap study seat, opening his casefiles and taking a notebook to take note on his findings of the day. He sighs, piching his nosebridge and nodding to himself after he hears a familiar thud, a faint yelp, the last warning of the woman to the wailing seven-year-old toddler and then half muted sobs from the crib at the foot of their bed.

Cain was too soft for his taste. He would yet make a true man out of his son.

Taking his finishing sums on the amount of exposure to radiation each generation of stem cells could receive before survival-impacting damage to the cell-lines was induced, he could barely wait for the next day.

Finally having his cold dinner, shaking his head, taking stolen glances at his wife, knitting by the radio on thew family room with a cheap floral dress, dark hair and hazel eyes focused on the task at hand, he wondered how stupid he had been to knock a poor girl and having to shotgun-wed her at the risk of having his balls cut out by his inlaws.

 

In every single aspect, he envied his colleague. He, Kurt himself, was as brilliant as any, but never had money, and man, would it make a difference. He would no longer need to beg for Government funds. He would no longer need to make only ethic experiences, with either single cell organisms, stem-cell lines of immortal cells, or animals or unsentient humans with no family - i.e., all sorts of madmen into asylum at the USA.

He sighed. Brian was too engrossed into his own family affairs, and had a flight scheduled to Westchester County by the end of the week, so he could for the first time in five years stay a full week home, to see his own son, born in september 1932 to his wife, Sharon Xavier.

Placing the dirty bowl of soup at the sink, groaning it wasn't steak, cleaning his mouth with a napkin, he stood up, eyeing his wife, humming tonelessly a song in the radio, too focused on her knitting to see him approaching.

He interrupted her with a hand at her needles, placing the work aside wordlessly. Kurt could never understand why she asked to be taken violently. His only way of achieving her wish was to act suddenly without warning. Any attempt at candour was met with contempt, and it embittered him. Less and less over the years he liked her. He stared at her, then moved his head towards the bedroom, holding her left wrist with his right hand. She stood up almost tripping on her feet, a smirk in face, being dragged in silence to the bedroom then into a sitting position at the bed, as he closed the door, removing his tie and unbottoning his shirt.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. Enter Westchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas, and the Xaviers are briefly returning home after gift shopping. Brian daydreams, and we get a glimpse of their happy family life.

Westchester County, New York, 24th December 1937, Friday.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------

A brown haired man smiled openly with both his teeth and his topaz blue eyes, driving his starkly white v6, a 1937 Chrysler Royal, through Greymalkin lane: by the passenger seat, a blond, blue eyed petite woman beamed holding a cute hand clapping toddler, five years and three months old, happily holding a stuffed shark toy.

At the backseat there were one nanny, a loadful of bags full of diapers and changes of clothes, and many packages of gifts to be placed under the Christmas tree. 

Being the first-born of the only-child Brian Xavier, this baby was already heir to an immense fortune, a huge mansion, and all the advantages that old money could ever buy.

Brian could barely wait to make sure his son would be so much more than only a rich boy.

Oh, he had theories. He had experimented and calculated and made sure Sharon had received the best vitamins, the best physicians, the best nutrients and the most well meaning treatments, all for the betterment of his unborn child. Specially after she had eventually fainted and fell downstairs that late night by the 8th month of pregnancy, he had to devise in his lab with the help of his steemed colleague Kurt that special set of vitamins to make sure she wouldn't miscarriage. Brian smiled remembering fondly how Kurt suggested, after Charles was born, and both of them admired how healthy the little boy came to be, how they should associate and make brave new cash by packing and selling the "pregnancy vitamins Xavier" as 'X-pills'.

"Brian, for god's sake, pay attention to the road!"

He startled awake from his daydream, mumbling a court apology to his wife, who rolled her eyes. Parking before the front door of the Xavier Manor, he left the vehicle, opening the passenger door for the two most important people of his life, holding his son's hand in hands, walking to the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story starts slowly, can't really rush it, and the slow building will lead to allarming outcomes as it progresses. I'm aimming for historical and general accuracy, including the shadier aims of project Black Womb, and how exactly it involves all the mutant's lives over the years, since its begings.


	3. Blind Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking advice from his immediate chief, Brian heads to his scientist colleague Kurt.

Alamogordo Facilities' Offices, New Mexico, 27th December 1937, Monday.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She smiled to the papers, her brown hair caothic on her head, her brow relaxing from the knit frown it was; idly touching each lines with the capped pen, she whispered the words wordlessly, as on the outside the day dawns.

Adjusting her glasses, she rolled her tired brown eyes to the doorframe, awaiting the knock that would come within seconds.

"Come in, Dr Xavier."

Brian sighed, wondering if one day he would ever understand how his boss could ever know he was arriving. He moved towards the chair, sitting and crossing his legs by the knee, staring for a second at his shoes and asking himself how noiseless he would need to be not to be perceived by her. She joined a bundle of papers with her hand, tapped them on the table to adjust them together and set them over the table by her left.

"Nevermind me, dear Brian, I happen to know all of you so well I can pinpoint your steps. It's not like you cats get any subtle around the facility anyway."

He breathed deeply. Irene had the uncanny ability to innervate him to no end.

"Well, I'm come from the holidays, ready to resume research. It isn't yet due time to report our trimestral findings, so what am I doing here, Dr. Adler?"

She smiled, as if staring right through him. Sometimes Brian thought she was. He suppressed a shiver.

"It may yet be time, but I would like to advise you to make specific pinpoint changes at your personal cocoon's genepool - she handed him a folder - in order to assure the best possible outcome to your experiments with Dr. Marko."

Brian nodded, flipping the pages and taking a brief look. Somehow Irene always knew precisely what to do and what would happen if he took her advice. She was hardly ever misguided, usually having nothing but perfect success. For a woman in this field, unmarried, no man to back her up, she depended on her genious and cunning to remain allied with Dr. Nathan Milbury, under the guidance of Amanda Mueller and Alexander Ryking.

"Well, Dr. Xavier, you are dismissed, please take these findings to you colleague Marko. He will appreciate seeing you after your days away. He will need the aid in the cocoons."

She glared at him with her empty stare, untill he nodded, leaving. Once the door was locked, she smiled, nodding to herself. He had such a pleasant voice. She would have loved to see his face, or even touch it, to see if the face made any justice to the voice. Oh well.. One of the downsizes of being blind. 

Fortunately she had no need of her eyes to navigate through life, she smirked, tapping lightly the capped pen into an empty sheet of paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene has the mutant power of precognition. She is supposed to having been born by 1900, and is rumored to have written predictions to mutantkind that will need social engineering to happen, henceforth her participation in the shady aspects of Black Womb project.


	4. Adorable...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian Xavier goes after Kurt Marko to get him the news Irene brought them.

Alamogordo Facilities, Underground Labs, New Mexico, 27th December 1937, Monday.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian followed through the corridor where the fluorescent lights hanging through wires from the tall ceiling led towards an elevator, holding his files and the files handled him by Irene. Left hand into the pockets of his white labcoat, he shook his head to take an unruly lock of brown hair from his forehead, taking the hand off the pocket for a brief second to adjust his glasses on his nosebridge, open the elevator's door and pressing the S3 button, leading to the third underground floor.

The whirr of the elevator made him close his eyes, due to an onsetting headache. Once at his destination, he stepped out of the elevator, finding a locked door, where he typed a series of nine numbers to grant him access: nodding to no one, he followed in, the door locking behind by itself, as he kept walking steadily.

His left hand shivered in anticipation and he put it back on his left pocket. Every single time he entered the underground labs he felt a delicious thrumm of anticipation, indescribable in its nature, very much akin to the thrill of discovering a new continent on Earth, a new species of human sized mammalian ape, or a new planet within our already known solar system; he felt like being able to find and create something so wonderful that only these findings would ever compare in scientific feats.

He felt like he was a teenager again, in Oxford, entering his biosciences courses and rediscovering Darwin and Mendel all over again.

He breathed deeply, finally opening the door to their lab. Kurt, at the negative pressure chamber meddling with the microscope, didn't speak a thing, just nodding back to him and waving absently, as Brian placed the files on the desk and sat by a stool, waiting his older colleague to finish before they could speak.

The blue eyed man smiled faintly for himself, sure the other hadn't noticed his nervousness. Even after years of faithful partnership, Brian still felt like a freshman in campus, which had no logic, since Kurt graduated one year after himself, despite being older.

Brian admired Kurt: the older man came from no money, obtained his own scholarship through hard work and good grades, and fierce determination. He rarely indulged in parties or booze, he rarely kept friends, and in truth the only girl he dated through schoool was the only girl he ended up marrying, while Brian himself had a much more reproacheful personal life, the perks of being rich and having your father pay for your irresponsibilities in hard cash.

Adjusting the mop of hair in his head, he wondered about getting a haircut, idly blowing some hairs falling on his eyes, startling awake at the hand that placed the tip of the lock of hair behind his right ear, followed by a small smile, with light wrinkles to his black eyes.

Heart racing, he locked his blue gaze at the serene eyes looming before him.

"Shush, Brian, it isn't the first time I told you this nest of hair should go to a more bearable size, it will end up in your eyes at the wrong moment and the wrongest possible time."

Brian nodded, shyly, moving his two hands on his own hair to adjust it on his head and behind both ears. Kurt sat across him at the other side of the table, locking his right hand into his own left hand, staring with light wrinkles besides his eyes. The question was in the air. Brian spoke.

"Irene came up with more suggestions for our cocoons, as usual."

Kurt opened his right hand, removing it from his own left, moving it palm up then nodding, as Brian handed him the folder. Opening it, he glanced at each page quickly, still nodding all along, clearing his throat.

"I have the new radiation tresholds ready into a chart, we should take a hold on them. As usual, Irene knows precisely at what point of the research we arrived. I'm always amazed at her."

Brian agreed, fidgeting with his own hands. Kurt held an icy glare at him. After years working together, he knew with quartz pulse precision that Brian was unsure and anxious, and awaiting for Kurt to make the next move.

"Would you like to take a look at the charts now? Or you'd rather go to the cocoons?"

Brian looked at him in an open glare that would be frightening if it weren't so genuine, his eyes smiling.

"Before anything and any changes, we should check on the cocoons, my friend."

Kurt nodded, saying "Perfection." as he stood up, standing about to four inches taller than Brian and heading to the Cold Chamber where their experiments were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It appears that in general, male Xaviers indeed have a weakness for seeking friendship with tall broody dark merit-achiever and potentially dangerous men.


	5. ...Lab Rat...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What lays within the Frost Chambers. Looks like Kurt also owns his own dirty little secrets.

Alamogordo Facilities, Frost Chambers, New Mexico, 27th December 1937, Monday.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Opening the security door with both their access codes combined (the only way they could access the chamber), both stopped at the dressing area, where they ought to change into sterile attire before heading in.

Kurt stood before his own locker, storing his own clothes aside, stepping only with his briefs to the next door, where the sterile suit awaited him. Brian followed behind, entering in time to see his colleague finish taking the trousers of the full body suit into himself.

As Brian suited himself, Kurt finished zipping his suit up to his own neck, checking at his gloves and shoes for a second. Once finished, the dark haired man looked back to the other, who was finished zipping himself, and nodded, placing his glass-plated helmet on, doning him a calculated smile.

"Be my guest."

He waved Brian the door, as the blue eyed man stepped in, already helmeted too, followed by the taller man.

 

Getting finally within the Frost Chamber area, they plugged the airflow tubes from the ceiling into their suits, turning the lights on then moving around the place. On its centre we can glimpse a dozen cocoons, each connected to a life-support system.

Brian walked towards cocoon 04, staring at the glass plate, then at the life monitor device, that was depicting a steady pulse. Taking the long print sheet of paper, he observed the dozens of lines, nodding to himself at their continuated stillness.

"It's good, isn't it?" He said absently. Kurt, in his economic fashion, agreeded.

"Pity they will never reach consciousness."

"Not pity, my friend, it's a blessing. Were they conscious, I wouldn't have the heart to be here experimenting."

"Never forget the first ones who had been conscious one day, Brian." He added gravely. Brian visibly stalled, checking the electroencephalogram lines again, sitting down.

Knowing Brian would take at least a full half hour to make sure the subjects had indeed NO cerebral activity, Kurt shook his head, silently moving to cocoon 03.

Kurt checked patiently on the life form inside, marveling at the young female face trapped within, eyes permanently closed to life although blindly open to nowhere, a steady topaz blue gaze under a head of short buzzcut chestnut brown hair.

He loved subject 03, her topaz blue eyes only matched by Brian's in colour. Fondly, Kurt stared at his own personal creation, caressing ligtly the glass: his pygmalion, his snow white beauty, forever trapped in time, glossy red mouth held open by tubes going to her trachea and oesophagus, growing within for 16 years now, muscles kept in shape by artificial electric stimuli, he knew the years of exposition to controlled radiation and selected drugs would finally pay themselves.

He could hardly wait for the genetic material his personal source in Germany would send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work tries to fit comics canon into the movieverse XMFC storyline. So, ages, dates of birth and crucial events will respect movie canon. Cain will still be five years older than Charles, but Charles had been born in 1932. Erik and Charles' age difference will be kept. Characters whose age is not specified will not be specified as well. 
> 
> Any inconsistencies with movieverse, please tell me and I'll fix it. I don't have a beta, so anything you feel like pointing out is welcome.
> 
> Thank you so much for your attention, I'm surprised by the number of hits. I never imagined the past might hold attention in this fandom while everything had been moving to the future in the new movie DOFP. Once again, thank everyone for reading. Next chapter, we meet Shaw, before he had come across Erik Lehnsherr.


	6. The Doktorr is in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw muses about the brilliant future that his people would hold.

Nazi Facilities, Concentration Camps, Dusseldorf, 28th December 1937, Tuesday.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A pair of brown eyes skimmed through a series of collages from newspapers pertaining important events of 1937: by far the most entertaining and with the fondest memories attached was the 'disaster' of the Hindenburg in May 6, called by the press an honest accident, and by himself an utter complete success.

How powerful he had become absorbing all that H2 chemical bonds' energy being released into one single explosion. So much potential. He could hardly wait for the results his fellow colleagues would yield into the field of atomic research. The future was nuclear. They were the future. He was the Future. 

He smiled to himself. He got a great load younger by merely experimenting with the standart issue hydrogen molecules. He never felt so healthy. Such a joyous time for his people, to start their own social engineering.

Blond hair, blue eyes, the motto of all his nazi counterparts, even of those not possessing said blue eyes, like himself. A sad reality the future would not hold. True germans acknowledge they are far from pure or perfect, but as a race they feel the empty need to follow their supposed nordic genetic predetermination.

Pity those fools still think outer appearance is what matter in evolution. Mere colours are but the icing of the cake. Only someone so ingrained in the fields of genetics and genetic... variabilities so to speak, like himself, would ever truly appreciate and seek the TRUE variations that would make the future indeed.

Thankfully aryans were too stupid to spot where the real game lies. Unfortunately to keep appearances, he would have to play along the dumb nazi game, while he scanned the captured jewish population who got brought into the camps in search of real gems, true beauty and perfection, of people with remarkable characteristics that would one day prove invaluable. No one but himself had the keeness needed to spot these abilities. One day, who knows, they might even cross this very street in unsure steps, and even present themselves in a silver metal platter, before these very ironwrought gates, ready for him to mould and shape and break as they should be.

Sipping his cup of coffee, nibbing on a slice of schokolate, content with his envisioned future, he stared off his windowsill, through the fog of the empty road to the camps, into the closed iron gate patrolled by two sentinels in full nazi regalia, as the heavy snow poured slowly on the outside, falling into the deaf ears of non-existant christmas songs, at a nondescript jewish Dusseldorf camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Shaw has connections with both friends and foes. His influence goes beyond nations. No one really knows when he had been born or where, or how many aliases he has. To date, he remains the biggest bastard in the known mutant and human world.


	7. Frosted Roses.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we glimpse some of the turmoils into Brian Xavier's mind and we see how so human he is and so prone to failure under his own eyes as well.

Underground, Frost Chambers, 30th December 1937, Thursday.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------

It is another day at the frost chambers: Every 15 days Brian and Kurt get to open the pods where their sleeping beauties lie, to take blood samples, and to engage into protocol standart mainentance procedures. Having already finished with cocoons 01 and 02, both men were in the middle of shaving the subjects' heads at cocoons 03 and 04 bald.

Hygiene was fundamental to the sucess of the project; it could not be forfeit, lest the work of the last 16 years would perish to blemishes, disease, pressure point lesions, infection and outer contamination. The mainentance needed in such a secret project was adamant, in a way even highly graduated scientists had to pursue tasks as menial as bathing, changing sylicon tubes from natural orifices, lubricating them with inorganic jelly to prevent bruising, turning the subjects around to inspect their pressure points for lesions, and finally filling the inner pod with the natural lubricant fluid that would keep the skin peach-smooth, perfect, and the permanently opened eyes lubricated and perfectly viable, should one day ever them be used into any kind of analysis.

Brian sighed, amazed at Kurt's endurance and determination. While he was already tired and willing a break by the time the first subject was finished, the dark eyed man would remain stoic and determined, roboticaly repeating each routine with near adoration until all the dozen pods were through. He could endure almost six hours of routine cleaning non stop, only claiming about to 15 minutes stop every three pods.

Brian sucked in his lower lip taking sight of his colleague cradling subject 03's face as he cleaned her nostrils, ears, and the minute hairtips from her clean shaven brown hair into a soft silken cloth. So much dedication.

Sometimes Brian cursed himself for spontaneous and less than pure thoughts during routine cleaning of the subjects. These were the moments when he would request some free time from Irene to go home to his wife and son to have a semblance of normal life. He was far from prude, but he felt very ashamed of his very human thoughts after these sessions. He wondered secretly how come Kurt could work so steadly, not a sweatdrop leaving his forehead, during the sessions. He envied the other man for not falling prey of biologic impulses of any kind.

Unfortunately Brian was a sensual creature. Not in the perverted sense, he wouldn't dream of anything as crass as.. coupling with any of the unsentient subjects, the mere thought of it viled his guts. But he couldn't deny beauty in attitudes he saw, and what he saw in Kurt's attitudes, the detachment with which he cleaned the still bodies, the care with which he noticed he cared for their faces, it moved his heart to places he never dared acknowledge. It made him want to be a better man, and stop thinking at all about his colleague, and instead think about all mankind, about loving humankind, since he couldn't love only and solely his dear Sharon and his beloved son.

Brian flushed furiously as Kurt looked from subject 03's face to himself, smiling, then turning down to wipe the corner of her mouth, before reapplying the breathing and feeding tubes.

Breathing deeply, he counted to ten, turning to subject 04's hair, clipping it short, cursing himself for delaying his work with dubious feelings that meant nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian doesn't have a heart of stone and at his job in Alagomordo, he tries to make it look ethical, to save face. However, painting la vie en rose doesn't deny himself that he is being unable to keep feelings away from his daily work, or even from himself.


	8. Dollhouse.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt reviews the greatest loss of his life, the one that defined who he would be and how he would endure life, at the height of his 12 years old.

Underground, Frost Chambers, 30th December 1937, Thursday.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt loved mainentance time.

When else would he be officially allowed, which would mean NO reprimands at all for touching and loving, to throughfully care and clean and tend for a being who would never ever reject him, his touch, his attention, and who would never turn attention and love to anyone else??

(The fact that the subject would never be able to refuse any care much less show any love, ever, wasn't part of his trail of thought and didn't matter to him at all. He liked to think his subjects were sleeping and would one day awake and just know he cared for them and be glad and happy for the care).

It's no wonder he would love to own a living being at his full disposal. Sometimes he wondered that instead of marrying and fathering a boy, a feat which implied SO many responsibilities - he was sometimes tired of always being responsible - he would be better off fathering a girl, whose objective in life would be to marry well, be pretty and just happy.

Or perhaps being single and owning dogs. No matter how his son was already seven, he would always be annoying and too stupid to his taste. His son Cain would never be the perfect boy Kurt expected or wanted him to be.

He grimaced for a second, returning to his expressionless face, remembering his obsessive father and his neurotic mother and their household full of six children, where he never had enough love and had too much responsibilities. As usual, the responsibilities.

His late father's words stung. Being the first born made of you an example, THE example. He never strayed. He never wondered what would be like raise his voice against his father. He never skipped classes. He never smoked before his 18's, when he was rewarded a cigar for turning into a man by his father's standarts. He never drank before his 16's, when into family reunions he would sometimes be allowed wine.

Clipping subject 04's fingernails, he remembered the few times he displeased his father and had his mother cry, specially the day he was 12 and his six year old sister cried alone in her bedroom during the night (she was the only girl and had the priviledge of a bedroom all for herself. Kurt envied her SO much it hurt, back then.).

He remembered rubbing his eyes and leaving the boy's room where he and his five brothers slept. He walked the corridor to her sister's room, at the attic, climbing the ladder and calling for her.

She didn't answer, crying very low (they were instructed to not awake their parents unless they were dying). He went to her, and she hugged him, cradling her oldest doll together. As usual, she was afraid of the dark. He remained with her, caressing her black hair and wiping her tears until she slept. Unfortunatelly, to himself, he slept as well, among dolls, ribbons and lace.

Kurt closed his eyes for a second, suppressing tears and the urge to craddle the subject under his care.

First thing in the morning, he was violently removed from the attic, being brought down by his father with a thud against the stairs down and the ground. He was called names he had never heard before, and back then had no idea what they meant (wasn't a fag the end of the cigarrete?). It was so unfair to be accused of something he didn't even know he was or not, back then.

He was wipped with his father's belt, once, twice, three times, drawing blood from his back under his nightgown. He never really understood what he was being punished for that time, but it had to be mightly grave. If he didn't know his father smoked, he would have concluded smoking was very very wrong, for his father kept spitting "fag" at him. He swore to never do it again, whatever it was he did of wrong. His father eventually stopped and left him to tend to his wounds.

Days passed: Kurt was temporarily defeated, but he wouldn't be the successful man he came to be if he gave up easily. He (thought he) knew how his father's mind worked. 

He pretended to ignore his sister during the daylight and where there were witnesses to see him being kind. (Real men don't hug, cry, love and care!) 

However, at night, every night, a secret between siblings, he would come up the attic to craddle his only sister, Melanie, and her dolls together, sometimes even play with the dolls to her, smiling and silently giggling with her, combing her hair and placing her the blue ribbon, humming to her a nightsong until she drifted to sleep, coming down to his own bed much later.

For months he did his routine, until one day, late night, he found his mother crying and his father discussing with a man in white coat carrying a wallet. His sister was ill, and had to be isolated in their father's bedroom for the night. 

That night, he couldn't sleep, anxious about what would happen. Once he eventually slept, almost early morning, he dreamt of her small smile and her blue eyes, craddling her favourite doll, a blue ribbon in her jet black hair. Finally startling awake with the noise of his siblings preparing to school, he rushed to their father's room, no longer finding his little sister there.

That morning their mother looked defeated, as his father told them to go to school as if nothing had happened. At the afternoon, coming home, Kurt found the house full of old aunts, people in black and men in suits. A cold feeling crept up his back, and he paced with his books slowly to the dining room, where instead of lunch, there was a beautiful white coffin, with his beloved sister and her favourite doll inside.

He was too shocked for tears. He wasn't allowed a kiss of goodbye. He was deadly afraid of dying of whatelse she had, since he had been holding her to sleep every single night before.

At night he stood in his bed with his brothers while the adults chatted over her sisters funeral outside. Sleep didn't come.

Next morning his family followed the coffin to the local cemetery. The priest briefly mentioned his sister was God's Angel reclaimed back by the Heavens. Kurt flushed in hatred of a God that would remove his sister from himself.

That afternoon, he asked his father if he could help clean the attic. His father approved. He passed the day cleaning her toys, her clothes, her dolls, bringing everything down. Once it was all clean, he was rewarded by his father with the ownership of the attic for himself.

He moved his belongings up. He was sad she was gone, but happy he got a reward for his efforts. Life was never so good that gave him something without taking another thing away.

That night for the first time, craddling the doll he never brought down, dressing his sister's doll with her old sleepgown he also never brought down, a blue ribbon at the doll's hair, he slept without fear of being found in the middle of girly things.. Now turned into HIS sister's things. The attic was HIS and he made a point of always keeping it clean, so their parents would never need to come up there and find he lied about taking down all his sisters possessions.

He inhaled deeply, wiping with near devotion the face of subject 06, before downing her into the fluid. She had crystal eyes and pale blond clipped hair, and a true doll's face, pale mouth surrounding the tubes.

As soon as the german sample arrived, he would ship this subject in payment, a fine nordic specimen to a nazi MD. Nodding to Brian, he stood up, offering to aid him with his esteemed colleague's subject 05, a brown eyed, short curled brown haired dark skinned woman, so them both could leave the labs before it was night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuse breeds abuse. However, in canon, Kurt saves both Charles and Cain from the fires in his lab, dying himself. He also told Charles to never tell Cain about his 'gift', and has always favorited Charles instead of Cain. He also treated Raven with some fairness. No, it doesn't make of him a good chap, but in my view it somehow removed him off the bidimensional villain group to the tridimensional character trope, becoming at least a villain with issues and perhaps even a back story that does NOT redeem his ill deeds but explains some of his weird perks of personality.


	9. What the eyes cannot see.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marko arranges for a familial New Year's eve. Irene makes sure he knows that she knows.

Alamogordo Facilities, Frost Chambers, 31th December 1937, Friday.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, are you heading home for the New Year?"

Brian almost spilled his Earl Grey as he awoke from his own private world of scientific data. Staring besides him, he noticed his colleague drawing a couple of radioactive dataset charts.

"I'm afraid not, I couldn't get a flight in time. Of course Sharon is upset."

"Oh."

Brian stood still for a second. Kurt wasn't one for idle chatter. He always seemed to have a purpose to everything he did or spoke. The blue eyed man sipped more tea and waited.

"Well, since you will be staying around by yourself, Marjorie and I wondered if you'd come along for new year."

Brian, for the first time not with his wife and kid in the last five years, took his time to reply.

"We don't have a team of cooks but Marjorie can cook a hearthy steak and fries and well. She complained we never get anyone along, and that she is far from her family and friends and she never got any friends here."

Kurt stopped before he started sounding like a schoolboy. He coughed, then asked.

"So, I need to know now, so she can cook for three or for four tonight."

Brian blinked slowly. He had a million innapropriate thoughts in his mind. His first impulse was to say "No, sorry..." followed by a lenghty excuse.

"Yes, I'd love that, thank you so much for inviting me, my friend, please tell Marjorie I will come along and I look forward to seeing her."

He cursed mentally; the lenghty excuse came as expected, but his posh british politeness put him into one meeting he wasn't looking forward to coming at all. He had two natures screaming inside. One told him to say "no way" and man up the New Year all by himself with his doctorate papers and one tumblr of scotch, at his private quarters at the facility, and the other shouted pretty much what he said in his answer to his friend, but way more effusivelly than taste and proper upbringing dictated.

He sipped his tea. Unaffected, Kurt nodded.

"Excellent, I'll be phoning her. I'll drive us home, just prepare a small suitcase for the night, saturday I'll return us here."

Brian nodded, returning to his papers. Kurt excused himself and left to make his call.

 

Kurt kept his cool, reaching the land line. Calling the phone service, he said the number to the call operator, being put on hold. Soon he had his answer.

"Marjorie? I just spoke to Brian. He's coming."

She grumbled a curt yes. Brian told her to excell her best, for he was his wealthy best friend and was used to fancy food and had special upbringing so Cain should be up and clean during their arrival and also be shortly put to sleep, so he wouldn't bother the grown ups. She agreeded, asking what time he would be home.

"It's not like we don't have more work tomorrow, we do. So we will be there early, sleep early and leave early. Let Cain sleep on the crib, the bed in his room should be aired up and cleaned for Brian."

He said his goodbye and finished the call. He considered himself very lucky for having acquired such a wealthy and well-mannered friend, and his friendship could use some polish and a bit of out-of-work social interaction. Besides, it was time Marjorie was useful for something other than keeping the house clean, feeding Cain and having their occasional marital obligations.

Kurt sighed. He didn't really love his wife. Infact, he became used to her, and even his spousal contact with her was mechanic most of the time. Sometimes he did it just because it was what he had to do, as a man and supposedly in need of such things. He could muster no finesse for fear of sounding too delicate. Sometimes he regretted even starting and couldn't hide his hate during the whole thing. He also knew Marjorie wasn't entirely stupid and probably realised something was off, but she wouldn't dare ask anything, that was how a proper woman was bred, mute and obedient.

He blamed his father, afterall. His lack of joy in ordinary life was certainly his fault. He was sure the potential to love another human being as he should, to bleed emotions and everything else, and show proper care, was lost somewhere in time between his first serious beating and his sister's death.

In truth, he never loved anything but his career (and his late sister) during the last years anyway. He became moderately infatuated by Marjorie the moment he met her, a waitress at the cafeteria next to his university: she had his sister black hair, but not her very blue eyes. Since all his university fellows were partying and bedding girl after girl each weekend, and he couldn't really see the appeal in that (he had to suceed in academic life and parties only seemed to lead him away from serious adulthood, he kept repeating to himself), he made a curt pass at her during lunch break one day. A day turned into a week, into a month, and when he least expected, he was taking Marjorie to the movies and eventually he got caught up the classic female web and voi-lá, there was lil Cain on his way.

He remembered his shotgun wedding, shaking his head. He remembered starting his research in Brian's team, bringing his nuclear knowledge into his genetics field. He remembered the Day Irene contacted them offering a research funding for a project in New Mexico. He remembered accepting, and that was where he were nowadays.

Standing up, he paced back to the Labs.

He had to catch up with Brian so they could get to the last six pods, five out of six full, all female as protocol dictates, all under five years old, to make subjects 07 to 11 ready for mainentance, before the day ended. He gave a curt nod to Irene, passing by him on the corridor. She kept her impassive stare, nodding back. Once he was past her, she cleared her throat, asking.

"Dr. Marko?"

He stalled. Irene gave him the creeps. Without turning, he answered. She spoke back.

"Please give my Happy New Year to your family and to Brian, tonight."

He stopped mute for a second, dismissed her knowing to spy devices on the fixed land lines of the facilities, then replied the same to her, heading in a quick pace out of the hallway. Irene smirked, glassy eyes staring at nowhere, adjusting her uneeded glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marko is the typical closeted man, Marjorie is the typical resigned wife, Brian wished he could escape, and Irene is always there moving the strings behind the courtains.


	10. Old Ralda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene remembers a part of her past.

Alamogordo Facilities, Irene's Office, 31th December 1937, Friday.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marko's ford left the facilities that night with a guest. The sentinels allowed for their passage, sealing the complex shut behind. Irene watched the whole endeavour from her desk, not through her eyes or through any very well hidden spy contraptions both Marko and Brian were sure she had.

Well, there were very well hidden 'resources' Irene had, but none common humans would ever be able to devise. As the roma woman (who told her she had a gift, ages ago, when she had been young) explained, her 'mind eyes' were her biggest resource, and would eventually compensate her blindness.

Irene dwelled into her own memories, very still, comfortably seated in her desk, remembering her early life in Romania, born into a roma tribe, the birth tribe belonging to the infamous Ujoa de Mendoza. Irne knrew she had been born Maximov, but she had no other data: her mother died syphilitic and it meant she was born blind. She also had a healthy uncle, long lost into a tribal skirmish, no body ever found. Her father soon followed his mother's demise, half mad from neuroshyphilis himself. Irene was then raised by the tribe elder, Old Ralda (neé Esmeralda, no other surname known).

The old woman was blind from one eye (milky white since anyone remembered her), crouched over her own back with a hunckback, age unkown, way more old than the usual of the tribe. No one remembered her being born. She was already old in the memories of the older tribe members when they were young. Some spoke she had a pact with the devil to live forever. Everybody feared her.

Irene sighed, her mind eyes recalling the past, for once not dwelling into the future. Old 'Ralda, called "The old Adder" by younger folks, inspired fear and awe with her predictions, and thaught Irene the usual gypsy tricks women pursued in order to make cash from the non-gypsy folks.

"One day, Irene, your true roma powers will awake. You are different like me. Those of us born different usually have a hidden power the gods gave us to compensate for our defects. I can see the future, being half blind myself, and for sure you will be even more remarkable than myself. You are meant for great things, Irene."

"But I don't want to be into the freak circus, baba."

Old Ralda smiled a toothless grin. Irene feared being sent to the circus once the old woman were dead and gone, since no one had wanted her as a baby, and no one would want her there, much less guide a full blind young woman in the tribe nomadic life anyway. She could understand it perfectly, having been sent herself to live at the outskirts of her small society with the feared elder.

"Don't worry, dear, I will live enough to make sure you are safe from The Circus. Now put for me the tarot cards again, Irene."

Irene tapped into her own cards, each marked discreetly on the back by a particular scratch. She could identify them by touch alone. Scrambling the cards, she started putting them on the table, making the usual tarot trick for the masses.

Meanwhwile, Ralda's mind was split: half paying attention to the present, at Irene, as the other half wandered to the past, Ralda's own past, blind to the actual timeline, remininscing her circus life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Ralda was the roma that took Irene in. She was born to a Maximov. But who was Esmeralda, Old Ralda the Adder, and where did she come from?


	11. Esmeralda's pact.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Ralda gambled with her own personal devil, receiving much more than she expected to.

Freak Circus, Europe, nondescript village outskirts in the pireneés, roma encampment, unkown day and month, spring 1800.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Esmeralda smiled, her long brown wavy hair covering her blind white eye, the right one, dancing in the middle of the clearing around the bonfire, everyone clapping hands as she clacked a pair of oyster shells in each hand, her partner following suite. His brown eyes wrinkled in the corners, his head covered by a colourful scarf, two big golden earrings in his left ear, a brown moustache covering his superior lips. He had come from outside their tribe, having only his knives, a horse and a mule, and a tent as his possessions, a couple of years ago.

His charm conquered them all. He said he had long been a wanderer and lost track of his birthplace. Men who behaved like these usually meant dangerous men, who had to hide, outlaw men who had murdered, robbed, and somehow need to escape their past. The Circus was the perfect place for them. His role here was that of fire eater and knife-thrower, and sometimes he would be part of freeform fitght, where men apparently stronger than himself would always lose.

He looked perpetually young, speaking fluently the many languages of europe, including catalanian, basco, gaelic, lusitan, briton, nordic, svelte, dutch, goth, and so many dialects. He had a distinguished look and too many fantastic stories to tell. He swore he saw the first trains cross cities, he saw the first cities become lit from whale sperm oil in their lamps, he accompanied the huge caravels in portugal into the Indias, he travelled through the Silk route in China, and also traded with the tuaregs in the arabias.

Most swore he invented it all to add to his mystery. His uncanny abilities to subject himself to dangerous activities that would damage anyone made people fear him. He was never bruised or ill. He kept a mischievous glare all the time, sometimes reading old papirus scrolls that even monks would have given an arm to put their eyes into, and no one dared ask him how he acquired them, or even fathom how he could read them, since most people were complete illiterates, and here he was into the roma circus camp, reading ancient greek and latin.

No one dared approach him much. No one really saw him eat much too. He usually hunted himself, cooked and roasted game himself, fished, joined the others to dance around the fires, which he loved with a passion and would often wonder everyone by diving a hand into the fire and surface unscathed, eyes almost glowing with inner fire themselves.

Everyone but one avoided him like the plague (which he also claimed he survived, while people perished by the thousands around him).

Esmeralda, the beautiful roma dancing woman, fortune teller and matchmaker, weaving love and money spells, had her only good eye set on him. Somehow she knew there was something different about this fascinating man. For some reason, his tales seemed genuine, although too fantastical to be believed. He looked like a true eye witness of mankind's history.

As such, they would dance around the fire, together, for many nights to come, performing in the circus together, belonging to the same freak show, until a day where Esmeralda was washing clothes by the river, late evening, humming their people songs..

"Good day, my lady." He purred, taking his hat off in hands, and offering her a curt bow, as she looked up and smiled.

"Trying your chance to bed the fortune-teller? I advise you I'm no courtesan."

"Absolutely, though I wouldn't refuse. I am merely fascinated by your special gift."

He sat besides her, smiling with all his teeth, a rare feat these days and age. She stared with her good eye, sitting and leaving the clothes aside.

"Could you tell me my fortune, gorgeous lady?"

She looked under her lashes, placing both her hands between them, palms up, as he placed his hands over hers. She moved her left hand over his, ghostly pressing her fingertips in them. His hands were surprisingly soft, as if he had never done menial labour in life. No scars, no bumps, no signs of broken fingers, no calluses. Literally it was impossible to read his hand in the usual fashion, so she uncovered her white eye, moving her lock of hair to cover the good one, becoming momentarily blind.

The white eye glowed with an eerie light, for a minute second, as she glimpsed into his past. She gasped for an instant, confirming he wasn't lying about his ancient origins, and that indeed he had had an even richer and fuller life, passing the aeons, watching the rise and fall of civilisations and pursuing over time innumerous aliases and identities, until his first and earliest memory, of living off the land, in a small group of too hairy people, who had adopted him as a baby, a spoil of the war between what would one day be called the neanderthals and the momentarily defeated homo sapiens in what would one day be modern europeans.

He indeed belonged in the Freak Circus. He aged extremely slowly, and since the advent of the earliest sumerian civilization, he stopped aging, having probably found an ancient binding tome from the epoch of the pyramids during his lifetime as a Ra Priest to the Pharaohs, the formula to the phylosopher's stone in the Library of Alexandria during his lifetime as a monk and scholar, or a spell from arab djinns during his lifetime as a medical student and world wanderer after he took his first medical teachings from Galen in Greece (once he left the templar services to the god Ares), having travelled the world from India, to Rome through China, enlisting the roman army during the Cesars Age, aiding the cruxificion of Christ (and being witness to his ressurection), migrating through the black forest as a goth warrior, reaching the brittanic isles, meeting another ageless immortal like himself in the highlands, then leaving once again to tour europe during a more developed age, joining the crusades and searching for the holy graal (and finding it, having the access to the holy blood dried within, a true treasure he never sold or gave away), until the advent of the Dark Ages, when he eventually practiced alchemy in search of the secret to his long life and to the mysteries of the ressurrection he witnessed, while people died of the black plague that spread and killed two thirds of all Europe.

He never had the time to attach himself to anyone. His agelessness meant he would be forever an outcast. The fact he was apparently immune to conventional diseases and damage, and also being capable to either use the energy received to keep young or give it back into powerful blows kept him very safe from the world dangers, as well making sure his invulnerability meant no one dared fight him, which made him feared and respected.

All this took less than five seconds for Esmeralda to devise. She blinked. It was impossible to really foresee his future, since his possibilities were limitless. She could however dwell into a series of certain probabilities. She shook her head.

"I'm afraid there is nothing I can tell you that you already don't know. You are one of the rare Able men who make your own future, and who walk alone through life. You will never have companions who will outlast you, or even remotely live or see as much as you. You will eventually cease marvelling at mankind, feeling that there is nothing left to learn, you will start wanting to create knowledge and pursue it yourself, to dominate all peoples, since you know so much and have so much power. What you now take from the falling waters of waterfalls, from crisply bonfires in the night, or baking under the sunlight will multiply manyfold as humanity advances and horses get replaced by iron and carriages start moving by themselves."

His eyes gleamed. She continued, not seeing him, but his future selves through her blind eye.

"You will eventually discover how to unlock the hidden powers of your chalice's dried blood once the magicians leave the dark ages and start really into what will one day be called science. This source will reveal a power so deep that after that there will be lots of different people, so many more than our own few, with powers that no one would be able to match. You are the messenger of the past into the future. You can be a great leader or a powerful tyrant, the choice is up to you. The majority of mankind cannot do anything to prevent you from doing either."

He smiled, nodding. She kept in trance.

"However, beware. The ouroboros will eventually bite its own tail. If you rise too tall and fall, the fall will be mightly painfull. Don't use wings glued with wax too near the sun."

She finished, hair falling over the bad eye, freeing her good closed eye. He lifted her chin with his index and a thumb.

"Thank you so much, dearest. For your prediction, I will give you a part of my gift. You will still age, but slowly, and unfortunately never getting younger, but it's impossible to make more in our time and age. I will return to my travels, knowing what Future will become for me and our kind, the freaks, the gifted, the changed people. I will keep in touch, until the day you die. I cannot promise love, as you already know, for I am too old and battered by loneliness to love, but I swear I will be with you until death do you part. Meanwhile, If you come across other of our kind, please guide them to power over the weaklings, and in time I will reach you to take them to be guided and shaped by me, Esmeralda."

She stared, wondering what would be like to have a really long life. She nodded to his gift. He then approached her face, kissing her with hunger in his open mouth, tongues intertwining as the thunder roared above them and light sparked from his mouth and hands to her, their light framing both against the dark sky during the sunset's dimming light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most probably you already know that the Immortal mutant is no one less than Sebastian Shaw. Irene's enabler Esmeralda knew him well enough, and their pasts were linked together at that point in Time, as Irene and Shaw are linked together nowadays as well.


	12. Shape-shifting the Future.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene takes one more step into her plans.

Alamogordo Facilities, Frost Chambers, New Year's Eve, December 1937, Friday.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blinking her memories back, Irene stood up, checking on the watch. It was about time to proceeed one more step into the social engineering long ago planned by her predecessors. She would have no better timing than now.

Taking hold of her authorization code, she moved through the halls, descending into the elevator and typing her code, gaining full access to the subject's room: as the boss, she didn't need the double-check of another partner to come in.

Dressing into Brian's sterile clothing (the only one small enough to fit her, since Marko's 6 feet were too tall to her lithe frame) and connecting the breathing tubes from the ceiling, she stepped in.

Taking hold on subject 03, she cleaned the faceplate glass with the back of her right gloved hand, peeking at the wide-open blue-eyed sleeping beauty inside.

Using her mind 'eyes', Irene made sure the opening sequence of the pod ran while she headed to the cryogenic fridge, choosing one inox steel tube labelled as KM-1936 from within, then taking it towards the warming plate, callibrating the thawing temperatures of the centrifugue to a slow but steady pace.

Moving to the pod, she lifted the subject by the metallic plate from within, moving her face towards the noise of the mainentance fluid dripping down as the hydraulics tubes whirred on the background.

Once fully up, anove the pod level, like frankenstein's monster's bride waiting for the lightning spark, the naked subject waited for the precog mutant's next step.

Inhaling deeply, Irene took a tiny blood sample, no more than a few drops, from 03's index fingertip using a portable device, which took a full round minute to yield result. 

She hummed satisfied at the hormonal readings, and also to the fact that the subject's body temperature also had just risen by one celsius degree. Nodding to herself, Irene typed a couple of commands into the pod, whose metal plates under both legs divided and spread wide, both knees being drawn towards the body, also kept apart.

No, she couldn't trust neither Brian nor Kurt for that. The former was slightly too ethical and also too unsure and oblivious, for making insemination experiments, the latter too jealous of his subjects to even think about soiling them with nothing but the most perfect genetic material. 

Poor Kurt. He wasn't subtle at all in his almost giddy expectations of a truly amazing genetic source from his german contact, deeming his own self too improper as source. Irene couldn't help smirking as she remembered how Marko deemed himself not a good source after criteriously analising his own data, and at how he nearly salivated at a certain kind of beauty that required nothing but the bluest eyes to be considered perfection.

Blue eyes had always been his weakness. Of course he never spoke to anyone of his fears and insecurities. But Irene knew. Ah, she knew.

Pity. She wouldn't have thrown him away, had she liked her in any way. Pity he didn't and would never be so inclined.

Irene smiled to herself. Being physically blind made you aware of other qualities rather than appearances, and made you capable of appreciating love in all shapes and genders.

Taking the thawed material into a blunt syringe, Irene carefully placed one single drop at the petri dish, observing the little cells move content under the lenses. She lamented not having had the opportunity to remove one ovary from each subject so she could produce the embryos entirely artificially, but since there had yet been no success into making artificial wombs, she had to resort to a full subject for their Social Engineering Project to take place.

Yes. For the first time since the freak and empowered few first started gathering together, to the recent times where they all decided it was about time to increase their numbers, they would have the means of making their powers purposeful, instead of 100% ramdom. After 16 years of subjecting the pods to carefully contolled radiation, insertion of specific genetic strings into the otherwise fully human DNA, and also after successfully comfirmed genetic manipulation of living humans like the Xaviers AND the Markos, Irene could finally fathom the possibility of taking the next step on mutant evolution.

Al this she had been mentally revising while she performed the uterine insemination of subject 03, unblinking blue eyes and pretty little red mouth oblivion to the new life that was twisting and shaping itself inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene is probably the second creepiest character after Shaw. Any powers without ethics can do a good load of harm. She never acts without purpose and unlike normal humans and most mutants, she knows the exact outcome of her deeds. Shape-shifting the Future is her current goal...


	13. Marjorie's Deception.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marjorie realises what's amiss.

Marko Residence, New Year's Eve, December 1937, Friday.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

Marjorie silently washed the new year dishes, her own thoughts in a twirl, firmly struggling to not call attention to herself.

The food had been perfect, as usual Kurt was distant and aloof to her, he also gave Cain a cool good new year and sent him to sleep with a couple droplets of dramamine, his friend had been curt and polite, and after dinner both retreat to the study, where they placed the chess set over the table and played until right after midnight, soon bidding themselves good night, then each retreating to sleep.

As usual, Marjorie was left to tidy the infrastructure of Kurt's life. Nothing was really looking any different.

Then, why did it hurt so much to see Kurt happy for having his friend by? After all, it had been HER own idea to invite Brian over.

Maybe she expected him to be cool and distant, despite well mannered, to his friend, as he tended to be towards her. Maybe she expected to see with her own eyes that he was indeed a "stick in the mud" with eveyone, and that his coldness to her wasn't personal.

Her gut feeling however told her right from the start of the night that there was indeed something amiss. Not on Brian's part, he seemed a young cheerful englishman, polite and agreeable, even going as far as inviting Marjorie someday to meet his Sharon and to bring along Cain so he and his boy Charles could meet. Predictable enough, she would muse.

The thing she couldn't place her finger at was her Kurt. For a start, he was smiling a bit too much. He had a twinkle in his eye. He was practically beaming, in his own usually self-contained way, clearly happy for having his friend around, not merely acting the perfect host as he implied they would do, in the phone earlier.

She sighed, wiping a couple tears with her soaped hands. So he was indeed cold only to her and his son. Did he think she was so stupid not to notice?

She could have lived without this knowledge. She never expected much love anyway, but to see her cold yet very handsome and well built husband to practically coo over his colleague and bluntly ignore her, to the point of going for chess and scotch after hugging her and politely kissing her cheek, then throwing effusively one arm over Brian's shoulders and taking leave with a full smile, had been too much for her own pride.

She was sad, she was angry, she was depressed, she was furious. She could almost feel the ground shiver beneath her own feet. She would later swear it actually did shift. She got dizzy for real, afterall.

Only after a few long strides around the table, she could finally become one with herself and feel slightly more collected, but no less angry still.

She had an itch she couldn't scratch, and it was driving her insane. She washed the dishes with all the strenght she could muster, in an attempt to let go steam. She almost pitied the pans and the metal teapot.

Sure, there were other ways to "let steam go", but in her current state of hatred not even if Kurt came on his knees, completely naked except for the tie, kissing her feet, calling her his dom, and pleading for sex (which he never needed to pledge, for the rare times he actually initiated contact she was usually crawling on the walls begging for release), she would probaly pretend she was fine and would say NO just to be spiteful because she could.

She pressed her fingertips with extreme strenght at the inox steel countertop, closing her eyes and making her breath even. She was almost ashamed that she often asked him to be taken almost violently, and unexpectedly, for she felt she needed the intensity to feel alive. Despite not being enthusiastic, this was a part he agreed to and played well, coming in a sudden to her, almost surprising her, towering over her, holding her wrists over her head, hissing cursewords, whispering rough into her ears. He would often act as if really angry of being there with her.

Perhaps he was REALLY angry of being there and having to play the part.

For some reason she liked him angry and mean, tall, dark and broody, even if afterwards, once all was over and he looked genuinely relieved, more mentally relieved than sexually relieved, he would actually close his eyes, and dig his face into her jet black hair, almost regretful in the afterglow, whispering he was sorry he wasn't a better man for her, until drifting to sleep.

Sleep would never reach her easily though. Despite sated, she was always wondering there was something wrong, and today she could take a glimpse of what it might be.

Not that she truly believed him unfaithful. He was so much a stick in the mud that were he getting his needed satisfaction, whichever it was, wherever it was, he would probably be overall too happy to pretend his supposed double life was bad, only for her and only into her presence.

Deciding the dishes wouldn't run away from the sink, and feeling particularly rebellious, she turned on her heels, abandoned the apron on the backseat of a chair, took a triple dose of the daily vitamins Kurt had designed (with the aid of his fellow Brian, he would always say!), to deem her healthy and strong to take good care of their son, and headed to the restroom to have a shower then head to bed.

She never noticed the five dents corresponding to the imprint of her left hand on the sink, much less the deformations on the metal pans where she gripped and washed with fury, nor the sunken ground in a circle around the table on the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For five straight years Marjorie had been taking daily the 'special vitamins' Kurt and Brian devised. Apparently what lacked was a powerful emotional trigger.


	14. Marjorie's Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marjorie acts.

Marko Master Bedroom, Post-midnight, January 1938, Saturday.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Mind fogged by too many a scotch, Kurt alternated between sleep and slight drunkedness, having bid his goodnights to Brian before anything might come out of control. He was sober enough to be able to say no and to not say anything wrong, but he couldn't make sure he wouldn't act on impulse if answers were required or commands issued.

Deciding the best outcome would be to sleep, he changed into his pajamas and laid down, hugging one pillow and actually missing Marjorie, one of the rare moment he was indeed wishing she were around.

Drinking made him clingy, almost in a non-manly way, and he was too aware Marjorie wanted him always manly, always secure, always sure of himself, and perpetually responsible for holding the world on his back. As such, he hated her constant willing him strong when all he wanted was to NOT be responsible for once. He also loved she was there making sure her duties were due, instead of making him do anything he wasn't ready to do today.

For a second he fantasised being in Marjorie's place and her in his. He shuddered at the thought of someone stronger than himself overpowering him. He knew it was hard to imagine a six foot tall strong man wanting this. Unfortunately the human mind wasn't always logical and calculating. At least in his mind he could dream.

Being too drunk to be scared but too sober to be properly drunk, he noticed the lithe black haired frame slide under the covers, and almost unsurprised, turned on his side to hold her for the night and dig his face on her hair.

He was violently shoved out of the bed, widening his eyes as he slowly collected himself from the ground, a hand in his chest.

Before he could say a word, he stared back at his wife, noticing the reddish unnatural gleam in her eyes.

"Marjorie?..."

She motioned her head to him, keeping a defiant glare. She clenched both fists, sitting in a straddling motion over her own feet at the middle of the mattress. Her wet long black hair dripped on the covers, framing her too white skin and her brown-hazel eyes on her rounded delicate face.

He had a sinking feeling in his chest, almost whimpering at the sight. She was sizing him up like a man before a bar fight would. She licked her lips. His heart almost missed a beat.

Marjorie, from the height of her 5 feet and two inches, for the first time since their marriage, actually instilled something more than infatuation and boredom in the six feet tall male. It wasn't fear, but rang close to.

Kurt was unable to understand what was happening. Where was the predictable porcelain doll girl he married? Ok, she often liked it rough, but THIS was scaring the shit out of him.

And somehow making him horny as hell.

She beckoned with her index from her left hand for him to come. He actually licked his lips and his already black eyes darkened even further. He approached. She seized her hand pulling him by his hair. He hissed, close-mouthed. She whispered.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who likes displays of violence."

He whispered for her to keep the voice down for Cain was besides the bed in the old crib, and they had a guest. She chuckled lightly, pulling his face to level with her. He bited his lower lip, almost falling into the bed besides her. 

Amazing how roles could be reversed. 

She reminded him of the dramamine the boy had, and of the scotch his "friend" also had, and that no one wouldn't hear a thing, because he would endure this night silently indeed.

He gulped, nodding and closing his eyes. He wasn't sure what to expect, but being hit in the face with a loud slap wasn't it. He held a scream, and blushed furiously. This shit shouldn't be making him hard. Her hand was way stronger than he would expect. He was sure his face would bruise. The fact she used her fingernails as her fingers crooked into a clawing motion would only add insult to injury.

He couldn't care less. He had never in his life felt so REAL. She kissed him furiously, adding a bite to his both lips, drawing blood. He almost screamed, but was muted by another loud slap-claw. She flipped him with impressive ease, as if he weighted nothing, straddling his still clothed hips.

If she weren't a woman he would surely say he had been manhandled around and made a lowly dominated whore while he were at it.

The worrying part was he was loving it. 

He kept his eyes open in fear that the seemingly best sex he would ever have in his whole life would vanish into a dream if he closed them for too long.

Marjorie glared at him, lowering her face into his neck and taking a deep bite. He clawed her shoulders, too weak with arousal and fear to prevent her of hurting him. Taking a couple more slaps in his face, slowly Kurt drifted into unconsciousness, as the world spun around him and everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the pills took effect, triggering superhuman strenght, and releasing all the hatred and frustration Marjorie had been bearing for the latest five or more years.


	15. Manoeuvre de diversion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt awakens.

Nondescript darkened room, life support beeping non-stop, 07th January 1938, Saturday.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The darkness cleared up partially as he opened his eye for a while, unable to differentiate details from rough shapes. Being tired beyond belief, he closed them again. He could hear machines beeping on the background, then tried to call for anyone, but realised he couldn't speak. He tried to stand up, noticing his mind was too foggy and he was too lethargic to attempt. He tried moving again, being stopped by a creamy white hand, slightly smaller than his own.

He had a flash of memory, jerking away from the hand, loudly whimpering in fear. He heard a shushing sound, then felt nimble fingers tracing a short lock of black hair in direction of his left ear, too short to actually reach there. Kurt stalled his breathing, glaring wide eyed with his left eye, the right one still too swollen to properly open up. 

Slowly he motioned his right hand to the left side of his neck, finding the gauze and bandages sitting there. He wanted to remember but most of his memories were out. He closed his eye again, relaxing down. The voice speaking to him wasn't the one of his agressor.

"Silence, Kurt, it's all right now. You were out for nearly eight days. Don't try speaking or standing up."

He nodded, recognising the voice. Brian kept talking.

"You don't have to worry about a thing. I sent Cain for Sharon to take care with her army of nannies, and a letter explaining briefly of your unfortunate casualty... leaving you hurt after what looked like a team of burglars breaking and entering your home, and seemingly taking Marjorie away, most probably for murder, since no ransom request was done."

Kurt groaned, still unable to speak. He was almost sure no burglars broke into the house. He was positive Marjorie maimed him in every possible way. He asked for paper to write, moving his wrist in the air. Brian approached his face and whispered close to his ear.

"Don't write anything that you don't wish revealed. Pesky blurgars nowadays, no respect, I say, my friend." He moved away from his colleague's ears, then continued walking around the room, now speaking out loud. "Irene came to visit you yesterday and told me she would give us both the month out and even more time if needed, begining as soon as you could wake up, since according to her own words, we can only work at the facilities together due to the security codes. Your house was in a sorry state, the outer wall to your room broken, and you... you should thank Cain for crying so loud and waking me up, and also fortunate of you that I went undetected by the burglars, otherwise we would both be dead, and Cain would be orphaned of his father as well. Of course, the police presumes Marjorie dead. I don't blame them. In the awful state you were, they can only believe the team of burglars made it for her even worse than for you."

Kurt sighed, shaking his head. Brian stopped him shaking, placing his own index finger over Kurt's lips, beckoning him to remain really silent.

"Well, since you agree, I have arranged everything for your removal by plane. We are heading to Westchester today. You are safe now."

Brian increased the drip of the morphine that was being instilled into Kurt's vein. Without time to protest, the injured man drifted off into sleep once again, the sight of Brian's blue eyes burning in the back of his eyelids.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, Private Airstripe, 07th January 1938, Saturday afternoon.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Irene waved her goodbyes to the Lockheed Model 12 Electra Junior plane that took flight from the facilitie's airstripe. It would be a terribly long flight of almost 24h, comprising of four escales of one hour each, each taking place after approximately six hours of flight time at the private jet belonging to the anonymous society's company that funds (alongside the government) most of the Black Womb project.

She almost pitied Kurt, but sacrifices needed to be made. She could have easily made Brian go to his own home, instead of making sure he would NOT get his flight. Without Dr. Xavier, Marjorie wouldn't have a fit of jealously and take three 'vitamin' pills, and would never go apeshit much less become dangerous and violent. Kurt would never have been hurt... and Irene would never have the so needed time span of one whole month all by herself at the Frost Chambers with the subjects at her full and complete control.

She sighed. What an unfortunate but necessary outcome. Irene needed more than only one night to take her social engineering into full effect. She also needed the time to deal with the new events and to ponder on the new developments their collective Future would yield.

Nodding to her driver, he drove her back to within the building. Dusting her white coat off, she followed into the elevator at the garage, moving to S2 level. Getting out into a corridor of flickering fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling as dusty particles move at the stagnant air, she adjusted her tortoise shell glasses, grinning widely into an iron cage with tight bars.

Out of nothing, a jet black jaguar rampaged towards the bars, slashing a claw outside, missing Irene's face by an inch. Her opaque eyes wrinkled in the corners.

"Amazing. Truly outstanding. Really? A black jaguar. Captured in Roswell? I'm speechless. Tell me again why you couldn't become a properly striped tiger, exotic and mysterious? Appaling, dearest. Black jaguar is so regional, so north-american." - she gave an exxagerated sigh. - "For sure, Kurt had never had my impeccable taste, although after taking sight of you, I now give him way more credit than I ever gave him for."

The jaguar howled deeply, pacing around in the cage, occasionally hissing at Irene.

"Oh, yes, I believe you deserve a prize. Maybe an exquisite and delicate black chamois leather collar ingrained with aquamarine stones alternating with pearls to better reflect your gorgeous eyes and delicate frame, and your even rarer name?"

The jaguar showed its teeth lifting the corner of its mouth, turning its back on Irene.

"Weren't you so dangerous and feral I would convince you into... my team. Pity you are too untamable to my tastes. You truly never were tamable, only poor Kurt never saw it in first place. I knew since your beginings that you would be bad for him."

The black jaguar almost seemed to sulk. Irene kept talking.

"We could be so good for each other, dearest. Unfortunately I know you still are not the one for me, as unique and amazing your genetics came to be after all our facilities' tampering with, through the latest five years."

The jaguar jerked awake at the bars again, spitting saliva tinted with particles of dried blood at the glass-eyed woman, hissing once again.

"No wonder my favourite tall dark and broody scientist took a shine on you... Unfortunately for you two, only in the end. Truly delectable you are. I could help you learn how to revert between this shape and your human shape, and maybe even acquire new animal shapes." 

She licked her lips. The black feline roared low and lowered its ears. 

"Indeed. You could use a friend in me, truly you could, but I know what you will decide and what you will do to me if I ever acted on my lust for your exquisite shape-shifting mutation. In time you will turn against me, trashing me like you did to poor him, except you WOULD do me... into my deathbed."

One last thrust against the bars, a loud angry growl. Irene shook her head, taking from the inside of her jacket suit, beneath her white coat, a well used but still shiny Walther 8.25 ACP handgun, aimming it to the feline.

"I allow no failure to our kind's plans. I'll tell you your Destiny: you are strong, fast and fierce but you aren't bullet-proof." - she cocked her gun, a dear gift from her german associate, breathing deeply before whispering, sultrily - "Auf wierdesehen, meine köstlich wanderlust."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene's lack of moral or scruples makes her mutation extremely dangerous to those around her on in the way of her objectives.


	16. Sleeping beauty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian settles back home with a guest.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, 08 January 1938, Sunday night.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The mansion's team of servants was waiting in line the arrival of the ambulance followed by the rent car that were supposed to retrieve Brian and Kurt from the NY Airport. As soon as the limo parked and Brian left, leaving their suitcases at the help's charge, he moved to the backdoors of the ambulance, where the nurse and an orderly aided the transport cot out, one flask of physiologic serum with morphine dripping all along the sleeping man's arm.

Sharon approached slowly, hugging Brian and kissing his face once, as the blue eyed man took her hand into his, making way for the orderly to manoeuvre his sleeping friend into the house. Walter, the family butler, took lead and guided the nurses in, into a previously arranged room at the ground level floor.

Before Sharon could ask, Brian whisperd he would explain everything later, and told her to phone Dr. Chandra to examinate their patient, and that he would be waiting with Kurt until his arrival. Sharon nodded, leaving, while the help unloaded the luggage home.

Minutes later, after taking a quick pass at the kitchen to steal a loaf of bread and some ham, Brian stepped silently into the nursery, looking at his already sleeping son Charles through the door. He would have plenty of time tomorrow for him.

He now had a more pressing matter, he wondered, adjusting his spectacles and closing the nursery back. He needed the family doctor's report before he would start weaning Kurt off the morphine. He couldn't risk having him wake up before they two had talked about the fatidic day of the "robbery".

Brian, taking a heavy book he didn't intend to read in hands, sat at an armchair into the guest room turned into sick bay, his friend sleeping into a bed.

Of course there had been no robbery. If anything, the ford was whole and sound, the chime clock at the family room and the radio hadn't been touched, and even Kurt's wallet, thrown aside on a corner in the middle of the confusion, was full, cash and documents.

However, the wall of the room was indeed broken, Marjorie had been really missing, Cain was screaming his lungs out, and Kurt was almost dead from bleeding over the bed through the gash in his neck.

He remembered the slow dripping wound, he remembered calling the police and the emergency services, he remembered getting to the kitchen, taking clean rags and cloths, and heading back to the room, trying to close the wound. He remembered the ambulance arriving, the nurse clamping the exposed veins in Kurt's neck, taking an IV and starting a coloidal serum to compensate for the loss of blood until a blood transfusion could be done, and he remembered the inquiry of the police.

Unfortunately he had no logical explanation to give the cops, and the nature of their work in Alagomordo was a secret, so he conjured up a plausible truth, filling the police with it and thinking very loudly all along that it was the truth and they would pry no further, as if positive thinking would take him anywhere.

Apparently it did, for the cops bought the lie completely. Once Kurt was secure and the authorities had Brian's authorization to take Cain and his written note to Sharon at a commercial flight, he headed back to work taking Kurt's car, seeking to find Irene.

She smiled at him, asking if the new year had been so eventful that he would be so late. At the time, Brian wished she were a man so he could punch her just once. Of course nothing was well. He answered her politely, and she nodded, seemingly surprised.

Before she could speak, he demanded Kurt would be given time to recover from the 'robbery'. She agreeded almost instantly.

"You look like it had been a traumatising experience, Dr. Xavier. Since you will be of no use around here on your own, for you need Dr. Marko's double check passcode to check on the subjects, I take on my responsibility your laboratory, and allow you both as much time as needed to recover, take a month to begin."

Brian nodded, for once not caring the slightest bit about their work of 16 years. He then communicated Irene he would be waiting for Kurt to wake up before they took the month off, practically moving into the hospital. He couldn't allow a groggy Kurt to wake up and speak to the first human available about anything different than the story Brian had conjured.

Besides, Brian wanted to know first hand what had happened. He was a patient man and would wait pratically at his side for him to wake up.

 

Shaking his memories off, Brian smiled, reducing the morphine drip to minimum. Complete withdrawal could cause unpleasant symptoms if done too fast and he needed Kurt very mentally sound. Soon after he did it, a sturdy man with a full beard and moustache and thick glasses came in with his wallet, extending his hand for a shake.

"Dr. Chandra, it's been ages."

"Yes, you never cease amazing me, young man, still finding and bringing strays in?"

Brian chuckled, remembering the many times he brought school colleagues injured in football (english soccer, not the american football!) and asked his father to help them, for they couldn't afford paying for a doctor. He dismissed his old family doctor with a wave of hand.

"It was the least I could do."

He then proceeded to explain the doctor what happened and his version of the story. Dr. Chandra nodded, inspecting the sleeping man throughfully.

"He seems sound. Give him time to wake up. Lucky him for having you around."

Brian agreeded silently, nodding to himself, as Dr. Chandra packed away and left the room. Once alone with Kurt, he locked the door of the room, taking his seat with the book and waiting for the sleeping beauty to wake up.

Shaking his head, he wondered what kind of story Kurt would tell him. Nasty 'burglars' indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Brian always had the habit of taking strays in.


	17. To Germany with haste.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene packs her late Christmas gifts.

Alamogordo Facilities, Underground Labs, Frost Chamber, 09 January 1938, monday morning.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Irene wasted no time packing subject 06 for delivery to Kurt's german contact (which happened to be HER own german associate, not that her beloved tall dark and broody scientist knew about it. Kurt thought the nazi MD was another researcher looking for exchange of prime genetic material, a man of pure science like himself.

The pale beauty inside the glass pod number 06 kept motionless as it was taken into the company's Lockheed, where pod number 12, loaded with the very still corpse of a black jaguar in cryopreservation was also located. A third pod, numbered 11, portraying a five years old subject, glassy topaz blue eyes open to nowhere, was also shipped along. Herr Doktorr never complained about her "gifts" to his research. He would be VERY glad she sent subject 11. Number 06 and 11 together would prove invaluable to him.

The black jaguar though would be beautiful stuffed in his living room within his private yatch.

Irene mentally reviewed the flight route. The three pods were to be flown towards New York's airport, where within a day the load would be taken by Luft Hansa, making a full circuit through the Atlantic ocean to the Azores Islands, with the aid of seaplane tenders along the way. Once in the Azores, a private ship, the Caspartina, waited for their arrival. The rest, as they say, would be indeed History.

She smiled, taking subject 03's pod, Kurt's favourite pod, which she inseminated recently, confirming the pregnancy. Labelling the pod to be taken to her own private frost chambers, Irene absently cleaned her glasses with the hem of her labcoat. As soon as a couple crewmembers took this pod away, four empty pods numbered 03, 06, 11 and 12 were brought in and replaced the taken ones.

Irene then started taking each pod's files, adulterating data so to explain their disappearance, blaming pathogen contamination to the loss of the specimens.

 

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 09 January 1938, monday afternoon.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He was in Heaven. There was no other explanation. He died that horrible night and awoke into what he would call the best room he had ever been at, for once not having to worry or being responsible for anything. Most people would feel caged for not being under control, but instead he felt strangely coddled up and safe from the dangers of the world.

He seized being laid over fancy egyptian sheets, goose feather pillows, fluffy blankets, having his wounds properly bandaged, a glass of fresh water over the nightstand, a warm dimmed lamp besides the glass, the remnants of an IV solution hanging besides the bed, already out of his venous system. 

Kurt idly wondered he could live like this forever. 

At the distance however he could see, sitting on an armrest chair, a familiar shape loosely holding a book over its lap, head tilted to a side, mop of brown hair covering his eyes, and long lashes closed behind a dark brimmed frame of spectacles (clearly myopic).

He silently propped himself up, trying not to disturb his host. Feeling for his own face, he realised his right eye was finally well enough to keep open, even though he had no idea how purplish or not his own face would be. He shrugged. As far as he understood, Marjorie had died or disappeared and quite frankly, after she almost killed him (and he didn't even know what he had done for that), he was glad she had gone away and that Brian had been there to rescue his son and himself.

He dived into the sight before him, almost feeling guilty, for Brian was married and most certainly nothing but a good friend. He cursed himself for these odd feelings he sometimes had. Usually he kept himself to the knowledge that he himself was a married man and should not behave like this: however, now he would no longer even dream of consider himself tied up to that insane woman, he felt slightly indulgent with his sins.

He was sober enough not to slip, ill enough to indulge, and the sight of his friend sleeping brought him a warmth in his chest that was almost painful to bear. It wasn't the violent lust he had at the sight of Marjorie's rough side. But it wasn't the mad reverence with which he cared for his sister, or even his dear subjects. In truth he never felt like this before.

He pinched his nose, closing his eyes, then staring at the ground, finding a pair of slippers. Sitting on the bed, he put them on, slowly standing up. His bladder was full, almost painful. He had no idea where the restroom was, and didn't have the courage to awake Brian to ask. He glanced around, walking by the wall towards a door, amazed to find an ensuite bathroom. He scratched his chin, realising he had probably two days of stubble.

Staring at the mirror, he winced. Kurt never felt particularly handsome before, but his sight was truly abysmal. His right eye was slightly swollen, the purplish skin turning blue on his right cheek, the trapped blood under his skin following gravity and spreading towards his neck, since he had been laying down for so much time. At the left side of his neck, he took his time raising the gauze slightly, finding an irregular row of black stiches, blinking once at the memory flash of being mauled by a furious bite there. The red rashes on both sides of his face corresponded well to multiple clawing slashs made by human hands.

Opening a bit his pajama top, he found similar red rashes there. Looking back at his own face, he traced with his fingers his lips, bruised purple, with teeth marks all over them, blackened with coagulated blood. The tingle he felt on his lips as he touched them brought a flash memory of careful creamy white fingers tracing them, in a shushing motion, an attempt to prevent him of talking too much before he had been brought here.

The urge to relieve his bladder returned fierce, and he looked for the toilet, wondering wether it would be polite or not to do it standing or if he should sit. He shrugged then sagged down, sitting. He still felt too tired for behaving like a grown man. Making sure everything pointed to the right direction, he focused for a second then let himself go.

The noise of waters hitting toilet water filled his ears as he closed his eyes. To the hell with what the universe thought of him now. His father was long dead. His brothers each had their own lives. His mother had been too absent in the last year to take notice of his professional success and even as a granny, she was awfully absent as well, Cain didn't even know her. He could and would pee sitting if he wanted. Women had no choice, but HE had. He could do either.

He laughed at his own silliness. He was bickering with himself, a sure sign of insanity. He chuckled, facepalming for a huge amount of time, then shaking his head and holding both hands together between his thighs, until he was startled by the creek of the door.

Brian jumped at the sight sitting on the toilet, closing the door in a haste and muttering profuse apologies. Kurt stalled, unblinking, then shaking his head and laughing at the ridiculous of the whole thing.

"I'm sorry, my friend, should have knocked, but you were not asleep and I thought..."

Great, Brian, what you thought, the man had flown out of the window, he had drowned head first at the toilet, he was playing hide and seek under the bed, he had grown an extra head? You HAD to barge in without knocking, how so non-british of you.

Kurt, still laughing, told him through the door it was nothing and that he would soon leave, but he didn't feel presentable without a shower and a shave. As if on cue, the door opened slightly, as Brian handed him a towel, a safety razor, and told him the shaving foam was besides the sink.

The shower started running, and Brian sagged on the sofa, crimson flushed, focusing not on his friend showering, but on listing mentally the questions he would make about the events of the new year's eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt muses about his life now he was free to be himself.


	18. Westchester Skyline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Kurt reason on his new year eve's traumatic incident during a late meal.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 09 January 1938, monday night, supper.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He stopped drying his hair with the towel, staring across the room at the table where a tray with two plates and a full bowl of soup, plus two glasses and a jar of water waited.

Finishing to close his pajama top, he hovered to the food, peeked at the bowl, placed the towel at the back of a chair, then licked his dry lips at the sight of water. He was feeling very thirsty. It was probably due to the morphine.

Filling a glass with water, he sipped it slowly. He was feeling famished and ravenous, but he knew better than attacking the food after what was probably a huge amount of time fastening during his unconsciousness. He didn't need to throw up.

He approved the choice of chicken soup, despite the fact his body craved something meaty and heavy in grease and sauce. He unconsciously licked his lips, taking a longer sip of water, his addam apple bobbing up and down.

He absently scratched the stitches, wondering if it were already time to have them removed, then looking around, finding the door to the balcony half open. He walked there.

Outside the balcony, Brian stared to the horizon, at the distance where artificial lights illuminated the building site of something huge and mettalic. He was leaning with both hands at the rail, humming tonelessly some classical music. Kurt leaned on the door frame, clearing his throat. Brian looked behind.

"Oh, look, look over there, isn't it amazing? In a couple of years we will all be having better television and radio communications, due to the splendid advances like the satellite dish they are building out there!"

Kurt nodded, stepping besides him.

"How big will it be?"

"Huge, a true monstrosity, but it will be worth it."

Brian kept staring entranced. Kurt smiled, shaking his head. The boy with the magnifying glass peeking at the ant farm, as he would always say to his friend, who kept sometimes a childish gleam in his eyes. After a couple more seconds, Brian cursed under his own breath.

"Here, I forgot you need to dine, come in, I can't believe I didn't leave a coat or a jacket or even a robe for you."

Kurt waved dismissively, taking seat at the table. Brian followed suite, and as he poured soup, he started.

"So, I know it may seem not a good time to talk, but I recall you were maimed and mauled to near death, and both you and I know there were no burglars, right?"

Kurt stared for a second, mouthful of bread filling one cheek. He then chewed three times on it, swallowed, had a gulp of water and nodded.

"A burglar would have hurt me less."

"Correct me if I am wrong, but Marjorie had something to do with it, didn't she?"

"Not wrong."

Unconfortable silence. Kurt had a spoonful of food. Brian waited.

"Well, it's embarrassing, but how can I put it.. she went insane, out of nothing, for I don't remember doing anything to deserve that, and she clawed me, punched me, and was specially vicious and intent in biting me."

Brian nodded, adding.

"And she also destroyed the wall to outside the room, in an impressive display of strenght."

"I suppose I should be glad she didn't kill me or Cain." He looked at Brian, then lowered his gaze "Thank you for being there."

This moment Brian felt something die inside: Kurt looked so lost, that the first impulse that came to mind was craddle him and pet his hair. The second impulse came as a manly pat on his shoulders.

"You're welcome. You would do the same. I only ask you that in the event it one day ever happens, you'd let me die if it were for me to become disabled. I wouldn't know how to survive without being whole."

Kurt gaped for a second. Brian insisted.

"Never rescue me if I am to be a burden or a nuisance with a disability. I am NOT that strong to survive it."

Begrudingly, he nodded, taking another spoonful.

"So, I told the police it had been burglars. They believed me. No one found Marjorie so far."

Kurt shrugged.

"I don't want anything more with her, even if she returned. She might have another fit of insanity and kill me. I'm too coward to die, and it's too soon to decide upon remarrying anyone. Cain will do fine without a mother, but since I can't stop working, I'll have to put him into boarding school. Life goes on, I guess."

Brian nodded, his plate of soup halfway gone.

"You know Cain can always stay here."

"Nah, I don't want to trouble you."

" I mean it. This estate is so huge it could house a small city, besides, it is your son, and I'd do anything for you, my friend."

Kurt stared at his own hands, mumbling a quiet thank you. Brian patted his knee once.

"Well, at some point Sharon might inquire you if you remember anything of your "accident". You can say you don't remember, to avoid conflicting our versions of the story."

"As you wish, Brian. Anything."

Brian cleaned his mouth with a napkin, finishing his meal. Kurt mimicried him. The blue eyed man stood up, placing his left hand on his right shoulder, clasping his own right hand around the taller man's shoulders into a hug.

"Have a good night, soon Walter will be taking these plates away. See you tomorrow."

Kurt nodded, holding his left hand loosely at his waist and standing up to properly hug him, mumbling another 'thank you'.

"You're welcome, my friend." He nodded then left the room, blue eyes sparkling through the closing door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always resolves around the satellite dish.


	19. Sinister Destiny.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only way to ensure your prediction of the future is accurate, is being there to make sure it happens preciselly as you said it would.

Alamogordo Facilities, Underground Labs, Frost Chamber, 10 January 1938, tuesday night.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Irene drifted alone through the time streams, calculating the surest next possibilities in her scheme of things. Now she managed to bring her two most brilliant scientists together, even though they still didn't know they were meant to be together, and even when they brilliantly refused to admit so, she could smile wondering how lovely it would have been if she had managed to get them induce in themselves any genderbending mutations.

Yes, Irene had no moral quarrels, no shame and no decency. The world was her oyster. She moved as she saw fit, undoing and redoing Destiny as wished. She did any and everything to reach her ends, and to bring power to her kind.

Pity for them both they never did get the desired genderbending mutations, and knowing in hindsight that they wouldn't, she had to bend Destiny and positively induce the production of subject 03 using her groovy genes of choice,16 years ago, await for its maturation, then make it produce the desired outcome that the coinjoined intellects and forces of her two beloved subordinate scientists were supposed to be able to do, had any of them been born female. 

In a way, they have already produced perfection together, in so many ways.

Irene loved a challenge and having many variables to work with. She knew they wouldn't be convinced by her reports faking the demise of the subjects, but that was part of her game too. 

Let them deem her the enemy that she indeed was. Let them pretend they didn't know anything, for even though they thought they knew, in truth they really didn't know anything anyway, NOT in what REALLY mattered.

She needed them trying and failing, poor dears, thinking they were actually conspiring together and effectively hiding information and scientific data from herself.

Nothing like whispered secrets and shed tears to bring two oxford colleagues together.

She amused herself a bit too much seeing in her mind eyes precisely the monsters she would awake, and for a second mused if her tampering went too far. She knew it did. She liked it that way.

Shaking her head with a full smile, she loved that her moves were as calculated as a good chess game. How would she have the perfectly troubled environment to trigger the awakening of the most powerful telepath to come into existence within a few years? It would never happen with Sharon being the perfect happy woman she was.

As usual, sacrifices. She took with one hand and gave back with the other. Poor Kurt suffered his hell, now he would be rewarded, in ways he dimly once wanted but would never act on by himself (too moral, too moral, tsk tsk). None of them actually would go beyond wishful thinking, not in the perfect household, not with the happiest couple ever.

Of course, for the Future to take place, they would need the couple to become in a sudden less than perfect.

Sharon however despite being slightly inclined to stray (Irene knew she was), wouldn't risk her social position for a mere fling. She liked diamonds and clothes and society more than she liked people, and she smiled and was a darling and generally liked people well enough when she was getting her trinkets frequently. 

Irene knew Sharon was a tricky one, and needed the right kind of persuasion, and the precog mutant knew who was to be the perfect persuasion.

Everybody loved to meet with their cousins to reminisc childhood, right? Perfectly innocent, indeed. Specially vain Sharon, being personally invited. Who would resist?

Irene, knowing of what had to be done and what she already did, remembered the small familial letter she intercepted weeks ago, adressed to no one less than dearest Sharon, Brian's darling, and which she smuggled with a trusted crewmember at the company's Lockheed, to having been delivered today.

Oh, yes. Having influence also within the Xavier household proves invaluable to her work. She knew very well by trusted hands that lady Sharon had received the letter today afternoon after lunch time, and that she had readied her luggage, her hair and her shoes and her pristine white clothes and coats and nails to the trip she would endure tomorrow, and that tonight and for a good time during Sharon's trip Brian would be getting none.

Sexual frustration was a big part of her plot. She already made sure Kurt would be getting none by removing Marjorie from the equation, for longer, and despite knowing the big bad wolf didn't care about it in the same way the blue eyed one did, it would end up working to her bidding as well.

She now only had to wait before the other players moved they pieces in her multiplayer chess game. Not that it would have made a difference: she already knew where the pieces would go, anyway. Tapping her pen into the empty sheet of paper, she nibbled on the cap, smirking as she closed both her eyes and wrinkled their corners, lifting a glass of water to her lips, savouring the Future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene's plot spans generations in the chess game of life. No one can escape their destiny. Be afraid, be very afraid.


	20. Say X, smile!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene, an instant camera (polaroid doesn't exist before 1948, but instant potography already does), and her shady associates. They are more than happy to comply.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 11 January 1938, wednesday, afternoon.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bidding his farewell to Sharon, who HAD to go to Kansas to visit her cousins, claiming he 'owned it to her, since she had welcomed his friend's kid home (and no one deserved that, sugar), Brian sighed to her, commented Cain was just a kid like Charles, kissed her hand and her face, then her lips, agreeing, as long as she brought Charles and Cain something. 

She beamed, taking her luggage and smiling to the two adult men staring at her, then waving Kurt a farewell too.

"Behave, and don't bring the house down on fire, I'll be back with presents!"

Brian kissed his own fingertips and blew her a kiss. She captured it in hands. Kurt smiled, waving back, as the nannies tended to the two boys at the nursery, because it was winter and it was cold.

As soon as the chrysler left, Brian turned his huge smile to Kurt, sighing, patting the man on his elbow and walking back to the mansion. 

The black haired man stared at his smaller friend for a while, following behind, idly scratching at his stitches in his neck. He wanted to take them away soon, but Brian kept telling they would do so at the 14th day after having been stiched. Kurt walked slowly, both hands in his pockets, taking his time savouring the sight. He felt free to think whatever he wanted for the first time in his life. Since there were no mind readers around, he could begin to at least think whatever he wanted, not whatever society expected of him. Dreaming wasn't acting upon, so no real harm done here, right?

Meanwhile, behind a happy façade, Brian lived his own personal hell: how could he?? He really shouldn't do it. He had a wife and a kid. He wasn't a hormone filled late teenager experimenting in Oxford anymore (how much he missed those times).

He was a better man. He was responsible for his acts. He wasn't an adulterer. Sharon did nothing to deserve his mean thoughts.

He turned on his back, smiling politely at his colleague. The taller man smiled back, keeping his slow pace, still damaged by his gashes. The blue eyed man sighed, returning to his walking pace, slower now, to allow for Kurt to reach him. 

Did it count as adultery if it weren't done with the one another's wife, or even a woman for that matter?

"Fancy a game of chess in my studio, or are you too tired for that, my friend?"

Kurt pondered as Brian closed the main door behind them. Chess was harmless enough, and required no great physical strain. He nodded, following in.

\---

Alamogordo Facilities, Underground Labs, Irene's Office, 11 January 1938, wednesday, night.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Irene hummed in anticipation. Tonight she had a meeting scheduled into her facility with one of her benefactors of old.

She recalled their last meeting in 1930, when they stablished the foundations for the Black Womb Project. Dr Nathan Milbury, PhD and MD, well versed in the mutates and the occurence of the essex-factors in the 'deviant' population of london and eastern europe, was there when the roots of the different people with gifts started first being revealed by 1859.

He was an immortal, not by birth but by manipulation of alien, sinister forces. He started as a man of highly dubious morals, expelled by United Kingdom's Royal Science Society after sheer opposition of no one less than Charles Darwin himself, once his attempts at inducing mutations and the increased occurence of the essex-factors (now more known as x-genes) in the scum of the so called modern world were very frowned upon. He ended up acquiring his current disposition of deathly pallor, red gleam in his eyes and his powers as a shape-changer. It made him a truly amazing opponent.

To Irene though, he was one of her dearest associates. She relished his presence and his aide, even though there was never any need for them to actually meet. She already worked herself into flawless manipulation of the timelines, bringing invaluable insight into their work. He would only come to visit when he had special reasons.

Like tonight. He knew Irene needed him and his abilities. He caressed with a pale finger the hem of his glass of red wine.

"I am aware of your progress into doing what I failed in my time. Vivre la radiation, I always say."

She smiled, clinking their tumblrs together. She waited for him to speak. He would. He knew she knew. He did.

"Of course you would have come nowhere without my previous research. And you will proceed nowhere without my intervention."

She nodded. 

"You already have everything arranged?"

She nodded further. Her tumblr had pure water, for Irene never drank not to tamper on her hindsight and foresight. He sipped his.

"Very well then."

He clapped his hands, as a young man came in and bowed to him, whispering "Sir.". Dr Milbury gave one curt nod, gesturing to Irene. She spoke.

"Let me show you what will happen in two days at Kansas. We will not be able to be there in time to photograph the evidences, but we cannot lose the possibility of getting the moment trapped in camera. We need your joined skills to make sure we have physical evidence much needed to advance our long therm plans."

The young man nodded, allowing for Irene to touch his palm with her hand, as Dr. Milbury did the same to himself. Both were hit at the same time with the product of Irene's mind sight.

Dr Milbury chuckled, sipping the end of his glass of wine, eyes gleaming red. The young man smiled a devilish grin. The pale man had his hand at the small of his acolyte's back.

Irene, showing them the room she had readied for the display, perfect in every detail to the reality that would unfold in two days, told them it was their call to perform precisely as her mindsight showed them. She assured them she would enjoy their session throughfully.

Irene had an unhealthy weakness for shape-shifters.

As they morphed to fit perfectly the Future, she took hold of her old instant camera, Samuel Shlafrock's 1928 model, grinning at the idea of the truly Sinister times that would unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr Nathaniel Essex, or his most recent alias, Nathan Milbury, was the trigger and start for the genetic based research behind the mutants in 1859, England, by means of the bloodlines carrying the essex-factors, also known as x-genes. He is one of the associates behind the Black Womb project alongside Irene, Shaw and Amanda Mueller. He became a shape-shifter by stealing the powers of a time-traveling mutant called Courier, once travel partner of Gambit, in comics timeline. He came to be Mr Sinister after the death of his wife and their unborn child back in the older years of England.


	21. Idle minds, devil's work-out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cold winter day, increasing boredom and an idle mindset gets you Kurt trying his hand at gym and Brian wishing he had never found about it.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 14 January 1938, saturday, afternoon.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Brian smiled, idly watching Charles and Cain piling up wooden blocks at the nursery. He marvelled at the doorstep for a moment, seeing clear miniatures of their fathers in them. Cain was sturdy and stocky, tall for his age, hazel eyes framed by dark eyebrows and jet black hair, an expression of deep worry always in his face. Charles beamed with sparkles and smiles, blue eyes expressive behind unruly locks of brown hair, lighter frame, slightly small for his age due to have been twin to a dead sibling and being prematurely born by one month.

He couldn't help a swell of burning emotion at them together. He wondered for a second if he could set up a document with his attorneys to warranty Cain wouldn't go to the system in case Kurt had an unexpected demise (god forbid, he thought). He decided he should indeed talk to his friend about the idea.

He sighed, taking his time watching the kids. Perhaps he could indeed persuad Kurt to let Cain here. Charles would enjoy the company, certainly, and Cain might open up a bit. They would be good together. Brian sagged for a while remembering how adamant Sharon had been in NEVER getting pregnant again, for she didn't want to lose her dashing figure.

It mattered nothing to her that he, Brian, told her he would love her always even if she were fat, a trail of kids on her wake, dirty apron on and wearing thick glasses from reading too much nursery rhymes, bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. Sharon flinched and almost hit him with her shoes as she told him she would never disgrace herself like this.

Brian shook his head as he mused he wouldn't have minded to fill the house with kids, theirs or adopted. He also wondered he wouldn't mind to begin by adding Cain.

Smiling as the two boys kept playing together, Cain meticulously fitting the blocks together into the biggest pile he could do, and Charles piling them haphazardly, giggling every time the pile came to the ground undone, Brian walked away from the nursery smiling, hands in pockets, wondering life couldn't get any better and brighter.

\---

Kurt was uneasily pacing the mansion halls in a navy blue jumpsuit, grumbling to himself with hands in his pockets. He had never before been away from any kind of work or mental stimulation for so much time. 

He felt like a caged beast. It was slowly killing him.

He wondered that might be the reason why Brian also remained so much time at New Mexico, so he could be at the labs doing something, instead of here doing nothing, specially during winter days. The pool was frozen, the books had already been skimmed through, he couldn't jog outside, and if he kept inside he would go insane. Chess, the only game he truly liked, was his only source of nightly fun with Brian and he decided he wouldn't waste the game away by playing chess by himself.

Which was the reason why he felt so happy of actually finding a gym room at the ground level.

You see, despite what everyone might think, he never worked out a single day of his life. Kurt thanked genetics for his muscular build, for he was too lazy to deserve his looks. The most he ever did was swimming back in Oxford, though he never got any prizes, and did so as infrequently as once every week, or every other week.

He recalled how he was always above the expected weight and gave up trying to slim, for he knew deep down it was muscle weight from his well toned (although not well defined) muscles. An ill advised person might even think he was overweight, but on closer inspection he had very few ounces of fat around, and only a slight academic pudge by his lower abdomen, concealing his abs just enough to fool people in thinking he didn't have a tank top.

It was even disconcerting that most professors back in Oxford thought he had gotten in by a sports scholarship, not through intellectual merit. He should have felt offended by this, but in truth he enjoyed secretly beating his colleagues in wits AND brawl altogether.

He snickered, wondering what should happen if he actually tried exercising. No harm in stretching muscles, right?

He took a couple of weight plates, testing them with his both hands, lifting them a couple of times to have a feel, a two hand body solid olympic 6' weight bar, a pair of weightlifting gloves that fit him, mounted the weights on, placed the ready bar at the two separate power handles at the flat bench press station, took hold of a towel at the rack, and started fitting weights at the weight bar.

They smelled slightly rusty and unused, and the mettallic scent lingered on his fingers. He fit three weights of 25lb each by each side, thinking it would be good for a start, laying at the bench and starting to raise them up slowly, actually thinking it was an easy weight, and that he was enjoying the stretch in which seemed a nice way to pass time until he got bored again.

\---

Idly wondering when dinner would be due, Brian stil hovered around the halls, noticing a partially open door. Remembering it was the old exercise room and that there were kids around, he came to the door, starting to close it to avoid home accidents, remembering in the last minute to take the key from the inside and lock it from the outside before leaving.

When he opened the nearly closed door to get the key, he almost tripped on his own feet at the sudden clanging noise, staring startled at the origin of the sound. There couldn't be anyone here, no one used these weights for ages, unless...

He gaped, glaring and gawking at the sight laid before him, the combined weights held still by the side supports, lifting, standing still, then bringing the weights down, once, twice, three times.

He stared entranced, alternating his eyes between the moving weights, the forearms, the biceps and shoulders lifting them, feeling his face heat followed by a pang of envy. 

Once the display of strenght was over, Kurt manoeuvred himself out of the flat bench, flexing his arms independently by his sides. Before the smalaler man could say anything, Kurt realised he wasn't alone and waved him a hello. Brian cleared his throat, speaking.

"Kurt, I had no idea you exercised."

"I don't."

Brian came close to the bench, counting the weights.

"Good God, you'll strain a muscle."

Strain? How come? Kurt couldn't recall straining anything out of effort in life.

Brian merely stared between the weights and his mute friend, who haddn't even broken sweat.

"This weights more than me, Kurt."

The other man seemed to think on the subject. He scratched his chin, then told Brian it was actually lightweight. Brian shook his head, "No, it isn't, I'm not thin, I have even a healthy fatty pudge down here, thank you so much for asking."

To prove his point that it wasn't any straining, and thinking arguing wouldn't take them anywhere, Kurt simply shrugged then lifted Brian in one swift move, bridal style, stared with a wide grin at him for a full second, winked once, then placed him down on his feet, resuming position by placing his feet slightly apart and both hands in his back, military style, holding a wolfish grin.

"See? Light."

Brian blinked, shaking his head in disbelief, unable even to complain he had been lifted and that it felt demeaning.

He pretended to be cool, but in truth the blue eyed man barely avoided fanning himself for decency sake, stealing glances as the taller man took the gloves away and placed the towel on the rack, waving goodbye and taking leave. Alone in the gym, Brian sat at the flat benchwork, holding the discarded towel and releasing the breath he didn't even know he was holding.

Good Lord, Kurt probably worked out lifting desks when no one was looking; he must jog around the lab holding piles of books, raise the car with one hand to change the flat tire with the other, suck on screws and turn them into nails, and Brian was begining to believe he lifted the pods to clean underneath them without using the hydraulic mechanism just because he could.

Also, since the man wasn't a muscle monster, he certainly didn't do it for bodybuilding/aesthethic purposes. 

Maybe Kurt was telling the truth and didn't work out at all, even though it looked improbable. No one had this muscle power without even trying. It was unfair to say the least.

Brian's thoughts flickered between amusement, admiration, and something he couldn't explain, but rang close to envy. Shuddering, the smaller man cursed that even when he had been exercising regularly years ago, he hadn't been able to lift half of this weight. 

Feeling ashamed, amazed and intrigued, he left the gym, locking the door behind himself and deciding to give the key in Kurt's hands, in case he wanted to train some time in the future. There had to be a secret. Brian could even come to watch, and maybe even learn what the secret was, couldn't he? He wanted to think he could, and left, smiling.

\---

Getting to his oakwood desk to check on his mail, Brian found the brown package sent to him from Bernard Shaw's Attorneys in Salem with doubt in his face. He didn't remember requesting anything to the firm. Knowing though that emergencies were handled to him by phone, and that he still had a couple of very old relatives at the countryside, he decided some of them might have died and maybe some heirloom ring or signet or the key to a coffer might be inside. 

Shrugging to the idea of inheriting anything, since he didn't need anything material and in truth loathed getting mail because it meant he would have to answer them, he sighed and caught the letter opener, ripping the package open, taking sight of the written message and the rest of the content inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prospects of getting mail that late is truly terrifying, more or less the same way you only get phone calls after midnight if things are truly dire and bad news are on the way.


	22. We aren't in Kansas anymore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian gets bad news.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 14 January 1938, saturday, early night.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian had a severely deflated glare at the surface of his desk.

He was so afraid of having inappropriate thoughts and acts upon his steemed friend and being unfair to Sharon even in thoughts, all these years, that it never occured to him he might even remotely have been betrayed.

Well, from what the letter said and the picutres showed, he not only had been but was also being currently betrayed. His hand holding the folder weakened, it fell to the ground and he lacked the strenght to collect all the semi-pornographic instant photos dating back to 12 january 1938, back inside.

In truth he lacked the energy to cry as well. He also lacked the strenght to phone her and ask her what was that.

He grimaced, chuckling nervously. "What was that", a joke. 

The pictures required NO explanations. Were he a real MAN he would be filing divorce NOW.

Rarely he found reason to curse his own old money origins. Divorce among the stupidly rich is VERY frowned upon. It's considered chic to keep married and retain mistresses, instead of disgracing the 'family name' to the middle-class gutter. Not to mention Sharon was the responsible for at least half of their family and financial contacts, and as such in a struggle with her he would automatically lose half the cash, for the investitors would flee.

Not that Brian himself would mind living less large, but there was Charles in between them, and it would do the child no good keeping him from a two-parent family, and also removing him from the social circle where he is, where he is already automatically inside the greatest colleges and universities (merely by the sake of existing). No sane parent would sacrifice their children's future for personal pride.

Sighing, he knelt on the ground, collecting the pictures without looking back at them, closing the folder over his lap and finally crying profusely by himself.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 14 January 1938, saturday, dinner time, family kitchen.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt arrived in the kitchen, having been summoned for dinner by Walter (the butler), finding Cain already sitting before a bowl of soup (Don't the rich ever eat steak? He would do anything for some meat. He wasn't ill anymore.) eating by himself and making a true mess out of it. Charles wasn't faring better, sitting on a wooden high chair, clapping hands at the nanny Fiona, shaking his head in a "no" motion, every time she tried feeding the soup.

"Liking dinner, son?"

Cain looked up at him, shaking his head in a 'no'. Kurt glared at him once, raised one eyebrow, as the boy closed one eye looking at his father. Kurt then smiled, petting his hair. Cain, grumpy, stared at Charles, who stretched his arms to Fiona.

"Ok, Charles, no more soup, you can have bread pudding now." She spoke.

Charles beamed, receiving his pudding, which he managed to eat by himself, not making any mess. Cain asked Kurt if he could have pudding too.

"Only after dinner, Cain."

"But father, Charles didn't finish soup, why he can have pudding now and I can't?"

Kurt sighed.

"Because I am your father and these are my rules. At least have half the plate, agreed?"

Cain sulked, flashing a grimace to Charles, who was stuffing his mouth with the pudding. Since he wouldn't have his way, he resigned himself to the soup. Kurt sighed, wolfing down the soup himself, mostly to set the example. He really rather wished for a blood dripping steak. He had an almost visceral need for having meat.

After a few tentative glances to the end of the table where by now Brian should be sitting and dining, Kurt asked the butler about his friend. Walter, recently arrived at the kitchen, answered.

"He's feeling undisposed, and asked for his dinner in the studio. He sent me this key to the gym and told me to give it you, and that you need not wait for him, and that he was terribly sorry for not being able to play chess tonight."

Kurt stared for a second as Walter prepared a tray of soup, bread and a glass of wine, heading out of the kitchen. 

After pondering it had to be mightly grave for Brian to refuse chess, and chewing for nearly a minute on a piece of bread, rolling his eyes around the people in the table and seeing he was the only grown up eating now, Kurt noticed Charles was almost done with the pudding and that Cain was playing with the soup anyway, pretending to eat, then excused himself, petting Cain and Charles in their heads.

"Fiona, nevermind the soup, give Cain the pudding now too, please? See you tomorrow, boys."

Both said at the same time "Good night, father". Kurt almost stopped walking for a second, then resumed his way out without answering back at any of them. Cain turned to Charles.

"He is MY father, not yours!"

Charles made huge puppy eyes, pouting.

"You can borrow my daddy and I can borrow your father?"

Charles smiled with wrinkles on his eyes and nose. Charles logic is always the best logic. Fiona chuckled at him. Cain glared behind his hazel ones at them both, barreling out in hatred about the idea of anyone borrowing HIS father. Charles screamed from the kitchen.

"G'night Cain, til tomorrow, love you!"

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 14 January 1938, saturday, late night, Brian's studio.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A knock in the door startled Brian, still sitting on the ground with the folder. He asked from there who it was. Walter answered that he had brought dinner.

Tired, red eyed, Brian adjusted his glasses and stood up, dusting his trousers and going to the door. Thanking Walter, he took the soup in, placing it at the corner of the desk and then closing it. He wasn't hungry, he didn't even feel like going to see Charles right now.

He sagged on the velvet armchair, staring at nowhere. After a long while, he heard another knock at the door.

"Come in, Walter."

Kurt entered the studio.

"Sorry, no Walter. Are you ill?"

Brian lifted his head to face his friend.

"More or less, some stomach flu bug, not feeling hungry."

"I see."

Kurt stared around, feeling something was off. Brian wasn't a broody depressed shell. He was always smiling and endearingly aloof, not sulking and sulkingly distant. He could even be considered adorably absent minded, but not coldly nearing nervous breakdown.

"Brian, don't lie to me, I've known you for almost 18 years. I've seen you with stomach flu, many times, and you lie down miserable complaining you are going to die, throwing up in a bucket and musing about the afterlife and if you would have a laboratory and if I would help you there. I don't recall any disease being able to shut you up, not even when you had lahringitis and was actually physically unable to talk and hoarsed yourself neanderthaling grunts around the lab to me. Hell, you don't turn food away even when you are clearly unable to keep it down and vomit like a pregnant lady. You are one very stubborn fool!"

Brian avoided looking at this man, gazing down instead, realising for the first time that he had indeed known him for at least three times more time than he knew Sharon, and that he knew more about himself than his own wife did.

"You see what I mean? You are not talking. You are the man who says incredibly lenghty phrases to mean 'yes' or 'no' and a full thesis to say 'perhaps'. I know your mind is working now. I can practically feel your thoughts leaking into my mind, pressing to get in, down back my head!"

He took Brian by his shoulders, lightly shaking him into attention, only for a second.

"I wouldn't have come if I didn't know you better, but I can see you are in pain. I will not however be a prick and stay around here, nagging you before you are ready to talk."

He stood up, for the first time avoiding his friend, who still stared at the ground.

"I'm not really good at the 'being a shoulder to cry' thing, but I wanted you to know that for you, I will try to be. If you want to talk or anything, I will be at my guest room. Whatever it is. I don't judge you."

Kurt left only fleetingly looking back, his brow furrowed and his gaze low, before closing the studio door. Brian kept reactionless, eyes focusing somewhere beneath the magma underground and the magnetic ferrous nucleous of the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian's shock triggers an emotional response from Kurt, who tries to help the one who had been the best friend he ever had during the latest years.


	23. Revelations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian seeks Kurt in the morning. Slash warnings.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, Kurt's guest room, 15 January 1938, sunday, early dawn.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A pair of black eyes opened slowly as the dawning light entered the room through the slit in the courtains. He groaned, disappointed. He had been so sure within minutes Brian would have come and talked to him. Now the night was over and he didn't get an answer.

Could it be he would have to corner Brian for real this time? Would threatening to hide his spectacles and lab blueprints do it?

He closed both eyes in a deep yawn, stretching his legs and arms. A clicking noise hovered before his face. He yelped.

"Sorry, sorry!!"

He blinked. Brian? Why are you hovering over me?

"I.. It's.. time to remove the stitches. Fifteen days now. more than time already, so to speak. I thought you would want to take them off now." He clicked the pair of scissors in the air twice. 

Kurt wondered he had thought about the question, not asked it. He shrugged. He could only have spoken out loud, otherwise Brian wouldn't hear him nor answer back. He sat up on the bed, staring at his friend. At least he was now speaking in long sentences as usual.

Brian gave a smile that seemed forced, nodded and gestured the armchair. Kurt stood up without really thinking and sat there. His friend had antisseptic in hands, and motioned with his eyes for him to expose the stitches.

Kurt liked their silent communication. It was specially useful during the negative pressure chamber activites, often reducing chance of contamination. Somehow they could always communicate what was needed without words. Brian adjusted his glasses and looked at the stitches by his neck, telling him to bare himself for him.

God, that sounded dirty, Brian thought, but since the other simply nodded and just did it, exposing the stitches and keeping his collected glare at Brian, he decided he was safe, and pulled one of them up, approaching the tip of the scissors, plucking it open in a precise motion.

"Everything right?"

Kurt winced at the removal of the stream from the skin, nodding. He wanted to ask Brian if everything was right for him too, since yesterday he seemed defeated and depressed, but realised that questioning a sensitive topic to a man holding a pair of scissors near his own jugular wouldn't be wise. He could wait.

One by one the stitches were taken off, and in the end the scar line with the dry blood marks would need one or more days of bandages to avoid contamination. Brian moved his hand by Kurt's jawline, turning his face right and left, keeping his gaze down the neck. Kurt closed his eyes, thinking he had to be strong. It was almost over. He would soon be freed of these sure and precise hands holding his face, of the fingers touching his skin, occasionally slipping down his collarbone as the bandage was put in place. 

"I'm still amazed at how deep this wound went with a single human bite."

Kurt, drifting away in the dream world of white square hands, was brought back to reality, blinking. Brian kept talking.

"I mean, look at Marjorie, I often get myself wondering how strong she really was to have managed all she did. She must have been a real animal in bed."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Sure, a real animal, teeth and blood and deadly claw gashes." Brian added he meant no offense.

"None taken." Kurt sighed couting the seconds. Soon Brian would be over and he would ask about yesterday. Soon..

Instead of taking his hand away, Brian held his face closer and stroked a thumb at his right cheekbone, over the fading bluish mark, commenting on how only these last three days his right eye stopped swelling. Kurt gulped, nodding, feeling flustered hot, burning under his thumb.

Brian thought he saw something flicker under his gaze, and for a second felt what could be described as a wave of fear and lust in his mind. He shook his head, wondering that Kurt wasn't supposed to warm and blush. Unless..

Kurt closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to prevent himself shaking. Control yourself! Brian raised his eyebrows, unable to break their point of contact. Oh my god. This couldn't be wishful thinking, could it? He pinched himself with his free hand and it hurt. It wasn't one of his embarassing wet dreams.

Hell, all the signals were there. Kurt was very pointedly not moving away, eyes closed, actually expecting something to happen. He would NOT start anything. It would be up to Brian to decide.

Did he really want that, or was it the frustration of being betrayed by Sharon and the desire to revenge himself?

He recalled the stolen glances at the labs, the playful banter, stray hands adjusting lost locks of hair behind his ears on occasion, the rare smiles that usually no one else saw, the eye communication shared and perfected over 16 years of friendship, and obviously, the current stubborn unwillingess to get away from his hand, even after Brian tentatively started idly stroking his right cheek with his thumb, and the other actually leaned slightly into his hand.

Kurt meanwhile, during the same time the other made his ponderings, worked on his own, diving head first into his own personal hell (or heaven, depending on how you would look at it). 

He wanted to jump and glomp and grope the other man. He wanted to scream and run away and become a buddist monk. He wanted to wake up from this dream and take a furious wank in the shower (he was feeling less and less ashamed of actually wanting that since he became officially a widower). He wanted to be kissed, be carried home bridal style to bed (now where THAT came from?), he wanted to go to the drive in and watch a stupid movie holding hands in the dark (huh?). 

He actually realised he didn't know what he really wanted, and it made him want to dig a hole and dive inside until the first man walked up the surface of Mars, which would be never in his opinion, and he would be spared the shame of being refused.

Sadly Kurt realised dying of shame wasn't an option, so he decided to try his luck pleading to the guy who ignores you when you pray (who knows, it might even work). Please God kill me now. Kill me, kill me, kill...

He never saw the moment Brian closed his lips at his own.

He stood very still for a full minute, frozen in shock, until he realised his mouth had involuntarily parted and Brian was giving him a few tentative licks with the tip of his tongue. Once he could muster any semblance of rational thought, he asked, in one obvious attempt at cockblocking himself (He was good at it).

"You are married, Brian, what about Sharon???"

Brian, lips wet and slightly open, forehead touching the other man's, remembered the set of compromising instant camera pictures his attorney from Bernard Shaw's company sent him.

The pictures featured no one less than his dear Sharon with a seemingly very young and fair skinned lad, barely a man, with probably blond hair (damn black and white pictures!), sharing her 'personal space', her own lips and even her most private body parts, specially 'one' she never gave Brian access (I am not a whore, Brian!), in a room clearly belonging to her aunt's home in Kansas where she was still supposed to be. 

His answer to Kurt was trap his friend's neck with one hand, bring their lips even closer and finally being able to reach his tongue and suck on.

Kurt closed his eyes and wished he were a mind reader to know what had overcome his colleague, but decided he wouldn't be a moralist for them both. He had no ties with anyone anymore, and in truth this 'crush' he had had been going by over 16 years, so he felt entitled to indulgence.

He decided upon letting Brian take the lead, for his experience with kissing amounted to precisely one, his late wife.

Until now.

Now Kurt knew why he never wanted anything with 'love and relationships' before.

Now he knew why his father beat him, afraid about what he might have become.

Now he knew what he had missed all those years.

Brian, between rage and deception, held onto the anchor that his friend was (a very tasty broad shouldered, well built and muscled 'in the right places' anchor, indeed), standing up and pulling him by the hem of his shirt, until his own head was tilting upwards towards the taller man, his hands cupping both sides of the other's face, kiss still unbroken, going languid and slow.

Kurt was screaming inside, hands holding loosely the other's waist by the hipbones. Brian soon manoeuvered themselves, laying his friend on his back over the sheets, spreading his thick thighs and fitting one leg between them, sprawling himself hip to hip, grinding against him, noticing not only his muscles were thick. 

Kurt, the good cockblock he is, had to speak.

"You... ever done it, I mean..."

Brian, dear and patient Brian, avoided sighing and spoke.

"Yes, and no, not since Oxford. I have always been faithful to Sharon, even though I must confess I missed the different tastes and shapes of being with a man."

"... What changed then, why are you here with me, I mean, not that I am not flattered and relieved you didn't turn me to the authorities, but I would never take you for..."

Brian now sighed, silencing him with his white index over his lips. The man was a well of insecurity (with his body, who would guess?). The blue eyed man inhaled deeply, kissing his friend's forehead once, standing up and taking the lawyer's folder he brought in the guest room, returning to the bed and making a 'sit' motion besides himself. 

Kurt obeyed, taking the folder in hands and flipping photo by photo.

"Looks like you had been more faithful to me in the last 16 years than she was during our latest six."

So THAT was what happened yesterday night: bad mail. Kurt had a coldly calculated neutral stare, knuckles going white as he flipped the photos, at the same time willing to rip the pictures apart and willing to rip Sharon apart, slowly and methodically. Brian waved off the pictures dismissively. 

"I should have imagined she would do it one day. I keep so much time away from home. And there are things money can't buy." - he chuckled, but his eyes had tears - "...or maybe if you think about it, money CAN, but this what money buys, I don't want it anymore."

Brian facepalmed, silently crying. Kurt hesitated for a while, holding his friend as if he were a little child.

What could he say? Legal divorce was not impossible but for the rich and influential it would be an enormous setback and a society shame, so it suddenly isn't an option. Even though she had adultered, Sharon still was mother and would have rights to her son.

If he could he would make Sharon pay dearly for these shed tears from who he considered the best man he had ever met. He promised himself he would one day do ANYTHING IN HIS HANDS to make her *pay*. She would regret being alive.

He would begin by stealing Brian's heart.

Caressing his brown hair, kissing the top of his head and inhaling the scent of green apple shampoo, Kurt closed his eyes, sighing and laying on his back again, bringing Brian down over himself, head resting on the crook of his neck, taking care not to lay him on his recently bandaged side.

"Brian.. If there is one of us who knows what to do... anything and anytime, it's you. Don't expect me to start or lead on anything, please."

Brian sighed, not really wanting to raise his head from Kurt's neck. It's been so fucking LONG since he last inhaled a clean musky scent that did not belong to himself. The cedarwood and amber cologne wasn't doing anything to make him want to get up, either.

"So...?"

Brian hummed, rolling his eyes, then deciding Kurt needed to open up a bit, you know, easing up, if they were ever one day to progress anywhere. From fluff to crack. From regency love to crass. He cleared his throat, speaking.

"Certainly, my friend, even though I always found you pleasantly desirable, in truth I am still finding it unbelievable that you, so handsome and manly and everything, you had been to Oxford of all places and not a single man... showed you 'around'."

Brian winked with a smile. Kurt blushed, lowering his gaze, then opened a full genuine smile, happy for being considered handsome, nodding.

"Oh, that, the tour! I've been shown around all right, you see, Brian, they showed the labs, the pools, the lybrary, everything. They were very through. They kept exchanging glances thinking I didn't notice them, but I did. In truth I confess you now I was *half hoping* to be part of a fray trick of any kind, I'm actually a good sport, hell, I'd even dress in a blue skimpy dress with sequins and a red wig, fishnet stockings and black leather boots, then walk the catwalk, for good laughs, even though in hindsight I might have enjoyed it slightly more than I should. Oh well, pity it never came, so I thought these fraternity things were folklore, you know."

Apparently a single compliment went a long way in making Kurt speak - Brian held his breath and blinked twice in shock. Suddenly they weren't talking the same thing anymore, even though for some disturbing reason he really approved the idea of Kurt in a blue dress. Brian wondered if he could ever make this idea true - an idea so wild he had NO idea from where Kurt had taken it from. Collective counsciousness of mankind? Kinky bastards enjoying themselves too much, writing the script of life? He would never know.

Brian then recalled the same *glances*, but for him said looks resulted on a way different kind of tour, including pubs, fraternity parties, dorms, joined *ahem* learning and very intimate camaraderie.

Realisation downed on him however.

"Wait. Time! Kurt. Dear Kurt. You never went to THE admittance party?"

Kurt looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Party? Like searching party, birthday party, political party?

"Good God Kurt, the *party*..."

Kurt raised the second eyebrow. Brian pinched his nosebridge, taking sight of his friend's physique, size and build, and instead of just drooling, which he felt very much like doing, thank you, in a sudden, he Knew.

The whole fraternity probably was literally shit scared that Kurt would FEAST on their asses, not merely oxford-style. Take them all under his.. metaphorical thumb, and make them all HIS subordinates of fray and anything and everything else, never submitting at all, being a true alpha male, so they never talked him in. 

The cowardly men of Oxford prefered the prettier and lither ones with sinful little mouths and puckers like himself, who started as poor blushing darlings to become the filthiest minds of the university, finally completing their lessons together on how to enjoy sex and one day bring it to their women at their future marriages and bring them into marital happiness.

Brian smiled, looking down at the big man splayed underneath himself, asking with his eyes to be lead around for he actually didn't know what to do with another man.

If his Oxford colleagues would even DREAM that the imposing and towering genius with a god's body (without working himself out for it, the bastard!) actually would be in his position now.

Well, Brian mused, he himself knew very well what to do next. Taking a predatory glance down, he approached mouth open at the gaping man, clashing lips and teeth and tongues together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter contains the graphic portions that would follow after the last scene.
> 
> Chapter 24 doesn't need to be read for the sake of the fic. 
> 
> Read chapter 24 at your own discretion, or skip directly to chapter 25.
> 
> You have been warned.


	24. (Continuation).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the scene in chapter 23. Graphic slash warnings, Brian/Kurt.
> 
> This chapter can be skipped into chapter 25, without problem to the continuity of the story.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, Kurt's guest room, 15 January 1938, Sunday morning (continuation).  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Brian kissed within fervor, his arms keeping him propped up, bodies meeting by their waists down, one thigh meeting each other's growing hardness, moving and grinding and sprawling together through the fabric of their pajamas.

The increasing dampness between their legs and leaking selves helped their sliding, actually making themselves heat flustered together, Brian's sweat dripping into Kurt's face, into his lips as he licks it and they part in ragged breaths, the contact too fleeting, not tight enough, but somehow perfect the same, soon the taller man perfecting the motion of his hips into a steady rythm, thigh muscles flexing and grinding against Brian's lenght.

Moaning loudly, Brian twitched, now moving his both legs beween Kurt's, spreading the taller man open, the front of his their both pajamas trousers almost transparent from leaking together, both trapped erections touching and sliding one against the other, Kurt's knees slightly bent up, rolling his hips, unconciouslly parting them ever further away, panting against Brian's neck, propping his own head up to meet the smaller's man body, both hands sliding down his back and meeting down his ass, holding his cheeks through the fabric and in a sudden jerking motion, trapping Brian's own hips by locking his legs behind the other's back, rocking his hips up and down, increasingly strong, in ragged incoherent breaths.

Suddenly brought together by the powerful leglock as Kurt came, mouth very shut, moaning in abandon through closed lips, filling his pajamas during their slide, Brian actually thought it was THE MOST AWESOME SOUND EVER MADE BY A MAN EVER, AND ALSO FUCKING HOT, BUGGER IT! and cursed a loud "fuck" as his fully erect cock fitted beautifully against the cloth-covered, damp from sweat (and now also from cum) asscleft, between Kurt's full muscular asscheeks, who contracted rythmically with the leg-locking post-orgasmic rocking motion, almost fully embracing Brian's whole width as they slided together up, and down, up, and down...

Brian saw white, not noticing when he actually started coming, wetting the whole front of his trousers, fitting his tent right by Kurt's fabric-protected still virgin asshole, sliding his head lazily as he came apart silently through his open mouth in full breaths, releasing his upper body, loosely holding the sides of the other man's chest, laying his face down the crook of his neck, placing a line of lazy sloppy kisses around the collarbone, finally diving and remaining there for an uncountable amount of time.

As Kurt regained slowly anything resembling braincells from the bread pudding his brain had become, still gripping Brian's ass and keeping his own legs spread, he brought their softening dicks, through the wetness, together, side by side, each slide bringing a faint jolt of pleasure as both feasted on the afterglow of sex.

When Brian decided he wasn't dreaming and that the smell of musk, clean and salty sweat, come and saliva between themselves was indeed real and had happened, he couldn't help a stupid grin forming. Good grief, if this had been Kurt NOT KNOWING WHAT TO DO, he was very afraid of his own sanity when Kurt actually learned anything but pure animal instinct. Not only his friend was a dear and a god, but also a natural, the most amazing fuck he ever had so far, and they haddn't even removed their trousers.

Which would become a necessity in minutes, before everything came from blissful to unconfortable with stickness. Even though still weak, Brian now removed their trousers, one at a time, taking his time appreciating the view, as his fingers slided on Kurt's ass and thighs, fully muscular. It had to be a genetic mutation. No one had such perfect muscles naturally and effortlessly. Placing an idle kiss on his parted lips, very lightly nibbling on his lower lip, Brian left to the ensuite bathroom, throwing both trousers at the shower, opening the hot water, wetting a towel and heading back to bed, noticing the sheets were humpled but otherwise dry. Taking his time, he used both hands to carefully wipe their traces away, finally deeming the task finished and throwing the towel on the ground with a 'slosh' sound, then turning the nightstand lamp off, sliding back into bed, fitting his body along the space between kurt's arm and chest, snuggling his face against the other's neck and sprawling his leg over the others, as the taller man placed a kiss on the top of his head and both drifted into sleep under the heavy covers as it snowed outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone feels comfortable with graphic slash. Also, if the pairing doesn't please you, you can also not read it. Your choice in what accounts for smut...


	25. I regret nothing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the events of chapter 23, minus the graphic slash scene.
> 
> Brian and Kurt have lunch, musing about the future.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, Kurt's guest room, 15 January 1938, Sunday morning, later.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian opened his eyes, checking on his wristwatch. 10:35 AM. He ran his right hand on his mussed hair, searching blindly on the nightstand for his glasses, unable to find them.

Cursing one 'bugger it' and wondering the glasses must have fallen on the ground, he literally slided out of the mattress like a snake and by feel only, before he stepped on his spectacles, found them near the foot of the bed.

Blinking as his eyes adjusted focus, he actually shivered due to the crispy air, asking himself why he didn't have his pajama top on. Looking downwards, he extended his question to the pajama bottoms as well. Looking around the ill lit room, he asked himself if his bedroom were always bare and devoid of his bookcases. Of course not.

Looking at the bed, and finding what he could call his best friend, lab partner and now 'bed' partner sleeping silently, face buried under the pillow, ass bare to the air, he remembered (he would remember this ass anywhere).

A cold feeling crep ip his spine. He came by to talk about what troubled him, he brought the fucking folder, he even used the poor excuse of coming to remove Kurt's stitches, and then..

Ah sod it, he ran another hand in his mop of hair, thus avoiding the urge to run his hand on the offending ass. As if on cue, Kurt grunted and shifted position, still asleep, this time covering himself with the covers. Brian smiled.

Well, at least he had good taste, he mused at the sight. How many men and women would kill to have such fine specimen to wake up to? Somewhat proud of himself, deeply wishing Kurt wouldn't regret anything, Brian looked around finding his pajama top and his black robe, complaining the trousers were nowhere to be found, until he looked into the ensuite bathroom.

Suppressing a curseword, he mused he would need to return to help clean the mess before the housemaids found about the state of the clothes. Taking the wet trousers out and putting them at a folded dry towel, he opened the drawers, taking two generic jumpsuits (for guests).

Brian placed one change over the bed where he had been previously sleeping, changed into the other, put his robe on and left the room with the wet trousers inside the towel, locking it from the outside, intent on coming back.

Meanwhile, slightly boneless, Kurt, dimly conscious of his surroundings, but too weak to stand up or talk, grunted and dived his head further into the pillow. He would swear he had the oddest and most exquisite dream, haddn't he known it had been truth. Who would take scaredy, absent-minded and allof Brian for a demon in bed? How come could Sharon actually need to look for anything outside her marriage???

Shaking his head slightly and standing on his hands and knees, he stretched like a cat, then looked at his left, finding the black jumpsuit. Shivering once at the crispy air, he was actually collecting his pajama top from the ground, still fully naked, ass in the air, wondering where the trousers went, when the door unlocked and Brian got back in, this time in civil daily clothes, and almost choked at the sight.

"For god's sake, Kurt.. p-put on some clothes."

Kurt almost yelped, bringing the sheets around himself like a greek toga. Brian laughed at the ridiculous of the situation. They had just had their proclivities together and he was worried about an ass in the air? Kurt stared mute, not knowing if he should laugh too. Brian waved him a hand in dismissal.

"Sorry, force of habit. But really, put on some clothes, before the help comes by and finds us like this."

Kurt then nodded, taking the jumpsuit and the bedsheets with him to the ensuite bathroom. 

\---

Once he came out of the bathroom, hair wet, black jumpsuit on, slippers, towel in hands, the bedsheets he took into the bathroom mussed but dry, he found out Brian had made the bed to military precision, and taken the mess away. 

He placed the messed up but clean sheets at the foot of the bed, then went to the note on the nightstand, which read "Lunch in my studio at midday. Brian X." 

Kurt was glad he had fully shaved: his circle beard of habit had been removed in the hospital during his eight days of coma, and he didn't muster the courage to grow it back since then. He wondered he felt way younger than his 38 years like this.

He opened his three suitcases, still untouched since he was brought into the Xavier Manor. Looking inside and realising Brian had indeed packed all his personals from his destroyed house, he actually smiled, choosing a casual wear cloth similar to the one his friend had come inside wearing.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 15 January 1938, Sunday, midday.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian nodded to Walter, who brought in the lunch in two platters, placed them over the studio desk, bowed slightly and left. Walking to the food and taking a peek, he hummed once, smiling, then getting to his third bookcase.

Removing one book from it, the fourth bookcase creacked open in a door motion, revealing an inside room. Walking there with the offending folder of pictures, he put it on one of the available coffers, locking it and taking the key, placing it on a keyring, then opened the back of his pocket watch, storing it inside, and finally returning the watch into his waistcoat's watch pocket, letting the golden chain exposed outside his dark blue three piece double breasted suit, coat casually hanging on the back of an armchair. Walking out of the secret coffer room, he put the book back, and the door slided back closed.

Less than a minute later, a knock in the door. Checking the hour on his wristwatch, he smiled.

 

Outside the room Kurt was nervous. He had a worcester suit, black on light blue collared shirt with long sleeves, and jet black leather shoes, hair all combed backwards, his Oxford ring on his left hand's ring finger, replacing the wedding band he no longer wore. He inhaled deeply at the voice calling him in.

 

Brian, hands in pockets, sized his guest up and down, eyes gleaming, wrinkles in its corners. Kurt smiled, lowering his gaze, apologising for not looking better. 

Brian stared, wondering for a second the only reason he wouldn't go around parading Kurt in his Chrysler for everyone to see and drool was the Law. He had to stop being that insecure. Motioning for the chair, Brian sat down, followed by his friend. Both started serving themselves. Brian was the first to speak.

"Well, where do we stand now?" He grabbed the simple tomato and lettuce salad and poured olive oil at it. "From my part, I regret nothing."

Kurt nodded, skimming through the servings, finding the most amazing blood dripping steak ever. Oh God. Brian could only have read his mind. He swallowed at the sight, then looked at the blue eyed one, swallowing again at the other equally edible sight.

"According to Walter, we needed steak."

Kurt, still mute, wolfed one mouthfull of meat, licking his lips slowly of the sauce. Brian followed the movement of the tongue. How can he be so unaware of what he does to me??

"Well, I called you in to know if we are still on friendly therms in the least and if we should forget everything or if you would be actually wishing to step further."

"I myself have no ties, but what about Sharon?"

Kurt, of course, had to ask. Brian, despite not willing to soil the moment with Sharon, recognised it was needed to determine these kind of details. He spoke between two portions of tomatoes.

"I have no intention of filing for divorce of granting her one, but I have been too wronged by her to keep civil. I have also no intentions of touching her ever again. However, she is Charles's mother and it would be mean to my son to have her removed from the equation, he likes his mother."

Kurt nodded. Brian continued.

"I will have her things moved to the room across the hall today. Concerning you, if that is what you wish, you could always move here definitely. I doubt Sharon will be able to complain. The photoset will warranty her silence."

Kurt chewed on more steak, wondering if Sharon would find out about them.

"If she will know about us or not, I don't care. Her outing us will mean ME outing her, and trust me, I can get lawyers to counter her affirmations about me, but she will be socially damaged forever by the pictures. If she wants to keep a socialite, she will know to remain quiet indeed."

Brian stabbed one steak from the steak bowl, his knuckles white where they grabbed the fork. Kurt stopped chewing for a second. The smaller ones are the most vicious, he pondered, while he himself had been but a "gentle giant" all along. He shuddered remembering Marjorie, and gritted his teeth for he should have had the balls to hit her, back then.

"I'm a red blooded man, Kurt, not vicious, and I don't believe in hitting women, it takes away our reason." He spoke, cutting the steak and biting a piece.

Kurt blinked, for he haddn't spoken out loud. Brian had the habit of answering him even before he voiced requests or questions sometimes, specially when angry. 

Sighing, he said he understood Brian, placing his left hand over his friend's right one, whilst the fork rested on the plate. Brian turned his palm up, and both interlaced their fingers.

"I'm glad I have you by my side. Your words to me last night are what prevented myself of suiciding. I was close to jumping out of the highest window."

Kurt winced, holding the hand stronger. No suiciding please. Brian brought his friend's knuckles to his lips, kissing it once.

"Well, If you agree that we should try to be together, I will get civil documents making sure you become my legal tutor of choice, having legal rights over Charles in case I pass away."

Kurt widened his eyes, mumbling it would be an honour, but that he wouldn't pass away... Brian kept talking.

"No, I would be honoured if likewise, you gave me the same priviledge concerning Cain."

Kurt agreed, finishing his steak, for a fleeting second eyeing Brian's plate, who had already stopped eating and left half a steak in. Brian smiled, cutting a piece and taking the fork towards his friend, beckoning him to open his mouth. He did, taking the piece and chewing it slowly. The blue eyed man then placed the whole half of the steak into the other's plate.

"Concerning our working routine, nothing should change, except I have a nagging feeling I won't stand keeping at my private quarters in Alagomordo by myself once the shift ends."

He snickered. Kurt smiled, then spoke.

"I know my house had been damaged, but what happened to my rental documents?"

"Unfortunately they had been terminated, and I paid for the damage. Don't make a face at me! And please worry not. I can get my lawyers to arrange for another house, a two bedroom one with one master room with bathroom ensuite and a fireplace..." He cleaned his lips with a tissue "No one will find it weird that two work partners would share the rent, while their families are on the other side of the country." He smiled a mischievous grin "Not with the Xavier signature behind it."

Before Kurt could complain, Brian patted his hand, lifting it and staring at the Oxford signet. An idea went through his mind, and he moved to his desk, taking a squared black velvet box, opening it and getting his own signet ring, placing it right after his wedding band on his left hand, then showing it to Kurt, winking.

"Brian, don't you think us both wearing it will raise any suspicions? I confess I put it on just to look better for our lunch." He lowered his gaze. Brian tilted his head, smiling, a warm feeling in his chest.

"Where did you graduate, Columbia? No, Oxford. Where did I? Let me see... Oxford! What an amazing coincidence. Many proud men keep wearing it all their lives. No one will say anything of men wearing university rings. And yes, I did found you dashing, dear."

Kurt blushed, then had to nod. He also had to admit Brian was dashing. Not only the man was highly intelligent and academially brilliant, but also smart about logic, life and business-like transactions. He probably had had lessons about finances and everything since before leaving the diapers.

For a moment he felt ashamed for thinking Charles would be just a 'lil prince'. It was obvious that at least the Xaviers weren't only a pampered lot, and true intelligence lay behind. He wouldn't have thought about half the implications of their shift in relationship, and in truth had to admit all he had been thinking about since he woke is how come he kept married to Marjorie and clearly unhappy all this time when he could have been having.. whatever they could have had, since ages ago.

He was surprised by Brian standing up and lowering his face towards himself, still sitting on the chair, lifting his chin and kissing him slowly, whispering he had wanted to do it for years, then straightening himself, adjusting his glasses. It was clear to Kurt who wore the trousers in their relationship, but he would gladly be manhandled anywhere by these blue eyes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt always dreamed to not be responsible about things for a change, and is more than glad to accept that Brian indeed wears the trousers of their relationship.


	26. Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus Schmidt toasts to the new addiction of Hellfire Club.

Hellfire Club, German Division, Berlin, 15 January 1938, Sunday, midnight.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Herr Klaus sipped on his wine, smiling through his chalice as his brown eyes wrinkled on is corners at the midnight dancer, the most awaited performer of Hellfire Club. 

As usual, new attractions brought a lot of cash. A sad piano played on the background, as a blonde woman in a red dress with red lips and red silk stockings ending in a red knee-high boot sang along.

The lights focused on the catwalk, as a white skinned woman framed in black came in, sliding with near feline grace, each step of her black high heel scarpins crossing the other, on a scissoring motion, almost defying gravity, swinging around her violin shaped body, hips larger than her shoulders, waistline proportionately thin, tight little black dress very form fitting, leaving little to the imagination.

As she held onto the pole in the end of the catwalk, lifting one knee and fitting the corresponding foot along the pole bar, sliding it up and down, lowering her back and somehow managing not to break her spine, downing her long and straight jet black hair, making it fall, almost reaching the ground, then lifted it up framing the curves of her hips and ass, as the men watching cat-called and hooted and howled.

She remained impassive in her dance, hovering her hands over both breasts and framing them besides the hips, ending with them between her thighs, parting her mouth in an 'O' shape, as the men went even wilder and she crept up a cold smile, flashing a pointy canine briefly. Herr Klaus raised his chalice to her, and she winked back to him, eyes gleaming red for a brief second.

Finishing her show in an exxagerated bow, hair flowing front and back as she moved, she waved a kiss to the audience, received a black fur coated cape that barely covered her shoulders and flowed onto her back, framing and beautifully contrasting with her pale skin and hazel eyes.

An animal to animals, she thought mischievously, as she made her leave and the audience roared and applauded, calling for 'one more, one more' from the newest addition of Hellfire Club, the Black Jaguar, the Dark Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Queen, the souless husk of who one day had been Marjorie Marko, whose mind was turned a clean slate by Irene and whose body was later repurposed by Shaw, preceeded the White Queen Emma Frost in Hellfire Club as his right hand woman and ran many errands that required subterfurge and animalistic stealth and vicious violence, before she had been demoted by the icy diamond tendrils of the blossoming blonde telepathic bitch.


	27. Musings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene hates the waiting game.

Alamogordo Facilities, Irene's Office, 16 January 1938, monday morning.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Irene just reached her office, a giant smile in face. But obviously, not everything is in good fun. Once again the waiting game. Dull times where she writes her predictions for the future, storing the files away. Dull times where the timeline runs loose and requires no intervention, and finally settles in the reason why subject 11 was so precious for Herr Doktorr.

In her eyes, Irene snickered, the poor young subject 11 was already living among the camp refugees, growing with the women and not knowing its true purpose there. Of course, Irene knew. And could hardly wait.

The pretty porcelain doll, topaz blue eyes, brownish hair, infectious smile, long lashes and freckled skin would blossom into a gorgeous young lady, and capture a certain young man's attention. He was genetically predetermined to go after that genetic combination. It would happen once, then twice for him. Both times would be his undoing. He is simply unable to resist, and he falls miserably, for he loves and hates profoundely.

Oh yes. They had already run off together in her mind sight, in the future. The boy sees himself free. Poor malnourished slender gracious tall and lithe german boy of steel eyes and resolve. Poor him thinking he would finally have family again. He couldn't be wronger. Fortune rota volvitur, and he would have and lose family many times still.

But that would be on the future. It was already written though. Said boy was already eight years old now. This future would begin still six years ahead. It had to wait the bent gates.

What mattered now, was the now. How eventful the latest days had been. Irene couldn't tire of revisiting the delightful scenario that her favourite scientists would create (and already did!), even before the nights previous to their proclivities together. All that unresolved tension building up. It made her hot and wet between her thighs.

Rarely Irene relished on things to come beyond the point they passed away, but this had been too precious to go to waste. Indeed Kurt's will to wholly submit was a treat, and Brian unpent energy would have been a surprise to anyone but herself. She could hardly wait to receive them back and see them exchange glances before these two very chairs, while they stare pretending calm, burning inside, yearning to touch their hands, one bracing the other against her glare.

She snickered, wondering men bonded much easier than women. It required as little as a heated glare, a fancy game, a tumblr of liquor, the loneliness, the sea, the underground labs, the space, the wet trenchs during wartime, a huge empty mansion on the countryside, the abbeys and cloisters and university frays. Men were so weak in their hearts. Men really made pals and friends for life. Women made foes. Gods like their kind often made both.

She knew Brian would leave his quarters at the facilities. She knew they would now come and go together, until Destiny came between them again. Meanwhile, they would be happy.

Very happy indeed. She shamelesly recalled particularly enjoying her beloved duo of hunks engaging together, mouths and limbs and hands and moans and breathless pants. It almost felt like being thrown into slash fiction live. This would be a memory to come for and at, always replayed.

Everyone, even Irene, deserves some, afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, everyone has choice actors to play in their fics..
> 
> My actors of choice to play:  
> \------------------------------  
> Kurt - Loren Dean
> 
> \------------------------------  
> Brian - Ewan Mcgreggor
> 
> \-------------------------------  
> Irene - Susan Sarandon
> 
> \-------------------------------  
> Marjorie - Dita Von Teese
> 
> \-------------------------------
> 
> Fell free to re-read the story, now with pictures.


	28. Sharon's Deception.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon comes home from Kansas.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 16 January 1938, Monday, afternoon.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharon was worried. Within the rent car, her load of luggages, the small wooden trucks both for Cain and Charles, and her own thoughts, she asked herself why Brian was never available for a phone call since sunday's afternoon. She replayed her chat with Walter in mind.

\--

"Sorry, madam, Master Brian retreated to his studio, he and Mr. Marko had laboratory papers and scientific documents to study, so he told me."

"Well, certainly you can get him to talk to me later after dinner then, at least, Walter."

"I'm afraid not, madam, Master Brian requested to not be disturbed, and told that a light meal of fruit, bread, cheese and ham should suffice through the night, and be taken to them, and that they needed to catch up on work, and he didn't know when they would be heading to sleep."

\---

Sharon felt there was something wrong then. Brian knew she would arrive. He never refused to talk to her, no matter what.

As the rent car (No one sent the driver and the Chrysler! outrageous!) came to the iron gates of the manor, she had a cold creeping feeling come up to her spine, like frozen tendrils burning into her brains, and the thought 'ungrateful whore' jumped to her mind, bringing goosebumps to her flesh. In the distance, she didn't see Brian to receive her in. Little she knew he was observing through the courtains of the studio with a cold scowl.

She left the car, and the help took the luggage in, as she braced her own coat, feeling colder than she was supposed to into a mild winter afternoon. She was starting to feel icy fear building up her mind. She sat on the sofa, looking at the butler.

"Walter?"

She looked at him, handing him the coat and her feathered hat. He nodded.

"Master Brian wants to meet in his studio, madam. He is already there."

Sharon glanced at the old butler, and once again the chilling feel came up her spine, and the phrase "You'll regret leading me on, bitch" invaded her thoughts. She felt dizzy and weak, taking one of the 'vitamin pills' Brian and Kurt designed.

"Right now, Walter?"

Walter then helped her walk the hall towards the stairs. She never felt so much undiluted fear before. Almost without her noticing, Walter opened Brian's studio door, introducing her in.

"Master Brian, madam."

He bowed and left, leaving the studio. Brian was wearing the same blue navy attire of the previous day. He had his back turned to her, holding both hands on his lower back. Sharon attempted to come close, but was stopped by a fleeting phrase 'Don't step any closer to me, ungrateful bitch!' invading her mind.

She stared around, looking at her husband, immobile back turned to her. Brian turned on his feet, staring at her, through his glasses.

If she thought about smiling, she soon abandoned the idea at Brian's icy glare. The phrase 'Confess what you did right away' came to mind. She shook her head. He haddn't opened his mouth. How could she have heard anything?

She took five more vitamins and gulped dry. She swore she could distinctly hear a whisper of 'hope you choke'. She almost did. The word 'pity' came to mind. Finally, she could articulate word.

"Brian, dearest, anything wrong?"

Brian smiled, and the chilling feeling came to her again. He spoke.

"Should there be anything wrong... Sharon Schmidt?"

The 'Schmidt' rolled cold from his tongue, piercing frozen her ears. She stalled. That was her maiden's name. Where was her 'love', 'dear', 'spring's primrose'? She swallowed dry.

"Brian, I... believe we need to talk. You are acting very strange.."

Brian took one squared picture of his pocket, throwing it on the ground before Sharon. The thought 'kneel and grab it and take a look at why I'm acting strange' invaded her like sharp icicles. She glared suspiciously, kneeling slowly in fear.

Shaking, she took the picture from the ground, turning the image up and staring.

And staring.

And staring further.

She twitched. 

She blinked.

She then blinked tears, and destroyed the picture. 

Brian grinned. She felt very cold, and shuddered.

"I expected nothing different from you. Fortunately I have a FULL ALBUM OF THOSE, Sharon!!!"

Sharon gasped, wondering WHEN AND HOW COME DID HER PROCLIVITIES WITH HER TEENHOOD BOYFRIEND HAD BEEN PHOTOGRAPHED, SINCE THEY WERE ON THE HOUSE ALL BY THEMSELVES, and actually sobbed loudly, facepalming and crying of shame. The thought 'you don't think I will be moved by such display, will you?' fell like ice daggers on the back of her eyes. She whimpered placing both hands on her ears, screaming for him to stop.

Brian, nosebridge pinched, inhaling deeply, spoke out loud.

"Sharon, consider yourself lucky I am NOT expelling you out of MY son's life nor filing for divorce. You and I are still legally married but I already modified my will and all my belongings will go directly for Charles under the tutorage of my very steemed friend Kurt Marko, until he is of age. You will have no rights to inheritance of any kind. In the event I die, all physical evidence I own will be automatically open to the family lawyers and later published on the newspapers, in case you actually try to remove Kurt's authority from Charles' life and business matters."

She kept her eyes closed, crying loudly. She couldn't believe she had been caught up. She had always been so discreet! She wanted her happy smiling Brian back!

"Your 'happy smiling Brian' smiles to you no longer. Your new room is across the hall. You are no longer allowed in my room or my studio. You are no longer allowed plane trips, car trips, shopping trips, much less any pleasurable trips or even any guests, nor the right to lock your room. Your mail will be opened before leaving home, and before being handed to you. You are no longer allowed phone calls. If you disagree to any of these and try to be loud, be ready to face the consequences before your beloved high society."

Sharon had her gaze on the ground. She whispered numbly a "Yes, Brian". 

He came down close to her face, bringing her chin up, screaming that "From now on it's Master Brian for you!!!"

He spitted at her lips, then released her face. Sharon remained on her knees, not even trying to clean the spit, whispering 'yes, master Brian'. Brian combed his hair with his fingers, gritting his teeth.

"Go. You will be very busy arranging your stuff in your new room with your stupid manequinns for the next days, you own a veritable shitload of crap and I expect to NOT see your face around. You shall be a ghost in my life. The help is not allowed to speak to you beyond needed, and you are allowed no requests beyond food and drink or clean clothes and medical help, under my supervision. The room you get in, I will come out of, no explanations needed. Make sure you are there for Charles OR ELSE. My lawyers had already been here and the paperwork had been changed to my therms. Be glad I didn't put you to live on the streets nor handed you back to your cousin Jethro Smith or Schmidt or something like that in Kansas."

'How incestuous of you lot' she overheard, as he pointed to the door, the golden chain of his pocket watch dangling slightly. 

Sharon decided she wouldn't push to know what ELSE would be, and fled out of the room. Brian locked it after her, sagging against the door.

Out of the end of the studio, Kurt, also dressed like yesterday, watching from the shadows, approached in quick steps with near feline grace, helping his beloved friend to keep on his feet, whispering he had done marvelously and had been so strong, and that he deserved much better than her.

Brian finished sagging in Kurt's arms, closing his eyes and pinching his nosebridge, complaining he had a monstrous headache and was too weak to walk unaided. Feeling a sudden warmth coming up his neck, Kurt helped Brian towards the armchair near the fireplace, making him seat and knelt down, thinking loudly about removing his shoes, deciding Brian would be more comfortable without them.

"Please, I will be, thank you for being a dear, take them away, and just hold me." He spoke, eyes closed, the worst headache of his life setting in.

Kurt sighed: he should have been nicknamed 'captain obvious' long ago. Brian always knew what he had in mind. It didn't bother him too much though, for he had nothing to hide from him. He finished removing the shoes, sitting besides Brian and taking his friend's scalp in hands, massaging his temples with his warm fingertips, humming low into his ears, saying he would be all right and they would get over it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn Sharon's maiden name.


	29. Sharon drinks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon makes a bad call into trying against her life and now has to deal with the consequences.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, Sharon's new rooms, 16 January 1938, Monday, later in night.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's been hours she had been sitting, half undressed, blouse open with one sleeve hanging off the left arm, the soutien loosely framing her slim bust, the skirt on but nearly up her thigs, one shoe on the right foot, the other somewhere in the room, herself sitting across the foot of the bed on the ground, back resting on the wooden frame, eyeliner blurred down her eyes from tears, lipstick haphazardly smeared across her face and into the back of her left hand, hair mussled in every direction despite the valiant efforts of her Aspa Lacquet hairspray, and one glass of scented alcohol mostly empty on her right hand, dripping on the floor, loosely held by her fingers.

She wasn't one to usually drink until passing out, but today she had made a conscious effort. She felt she had nothing really to lose. Besides, the numbness in her mind, the quiet, was so soothing.

She decided this would have been a nice way of dying. Numb. She looked for anything to kill herself with. She couldn't make a hanging knot even if her life or death depended on it. She didn't want to cut her wrists and make a gory display of herself. She wanted a clean and painless death.

That was when she decided upon taking medication. She had only a nearly empty bottle of tylenol, but she had a wholly full bottle of 'vitamin pills' her once dear Brian one day devised.

It would be poetic to die indirectly by his hands, to be able to blame him on such a final destiny, better than his pseudo-kindness of letting her live in the luxurious Xavier Estate, the domestic prison, the princess' tower he had condemned her into. It would be beautiful revenge. Maybe he would even be remorseful of her death.

Unfortunatelly she would never find out.

It's been hours she had already taken all the pills, all the thylenol, and even had drunk the lavender parfum and the alcohol based bodyspray deodorant together, hoping to either choke to death or die by poisoning.

In hindsight she should have imagined that vitamins supposed to make you healthy wouldn't kill you, but despite being a spoiled girl with no university degree, she remembered Brian one day teaching her that an excess of vitamin A could cause acute hepatic failure.

Well, apparently the vitamins didn't include vitamin A. She was still alive and her liver felt like prime, thank you very much for asking.

All she could do now was cry, and she already dried her stock of tears in the latest two hours. She would keep drinking. She was so glad for her current numbness. Everything went so quiet. The alcohol went quite well with her.

Unlike the pills.

No, the pills were true hell. Not the hell that kills you, but the hell that keeps you going.

Amisdt the numbness in her limbs, she remebered the latest events with chilling dread.

 

\--  
About to half an hour after she had taken the full bottle of vitamins in, more or less when she realised death wasn't going to knock and take her for a stroll, she started feeling very weird.

For some reason the edges of her sight were getting really coloured with icy-blue undertones, and sudden knee-jerking chills would creep up her spine, tenfold worse than at the moments Brian was screaming to her hours earlier.

Maybe out of guilt, out of shame, she could hear *everything* Brian told her again, even if it were with other words and much less nerve and more bile, in between sobs and muffled cries.

Actual physical pain became the next step, limbs stiff as feet buried in snow for too long, thawing back into life in sharp intakes, as the loose words calling her whore, bitch, slut and many other delightful adjectives with Brian's imppecable british accent kept reaching her half-american, half-german mind.

The worse though wasn't the frosty coldness making her shiver and fall to the ground.

The moment she faltered and crawled in search of anything to hold into and slam her head at until the brains poured out of her ears, the unbearable heat begun.

It was white-hot, followed by shushed wordless indefinible whispering, firm strong touches like warm hands holding into shoulders and knoting the tension away, at the same time she could muster distinctively the feel of burning lips fleeting over skin, saliva-moist fingers probing and crooking and twisting into delightful forbidden places, the hot goosebumps invading occasionally her flesh, indicating her precisely where the most intimate caresses would come.

It might even have been pleasurable if it werent for the sure knowledge and insane reasoning she had that for some reason it was Brian's doing just to spite her because he could.

She gritted her temples in hands, nearly screaming. She was going mad, that was the only explanation. Out of pure guilt, her brain decided to play her on and make her feel some sort of second hand pleasure that was the more painful because it wasn't meant for her.

She couldn't identify how or where or even with whom the whole thing was playing. No meaningful words pore through. Mostly moaning, hissing, humming and pulsing waves of heat and red and yellow warmth, but never a single worded indication. 

Pure emotions on an undiluted empathic wave. 

Only the certainty that Brian was involved and intent in driving her mad, kept her from actually enjoying it.

It eventually ended in white sparkles and stars, and the whole veritable torture section was over, just like this, its absence even worse, for she had almost tore her clothes out and then started feeling very, very cold in the aftermath.

Sharon sobbed drunkard breaths, returning her mind to the present. She decided she didn't like at all feeling these supposed second hand feelings. She wished very much to be able to turn them off. 

The only way she found was through the blessing of spirits, so good to her, her only friends, delightfully silent, no colours on the edges of sight, no hatred crushing her brains, no pleasures invading her groins as well.

She snickered, pouring herself another serving of 1930 Jean Patou's Joy, the haute-couture parfum from the high-class chic socialites, cheering into the air at no one and smiling, closing her blue eyes and downing it at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The x-pills triggered full Empathy in Sharon, and she can feel undiluted emotions from those around her. She doesn't like it the slightest bit, and discovers that drinking actually stops the feelings from creeping up on her.


	30. Morning call.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emergency call exposes Kurt and Brian to the butler.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 17 January 1938, Tuesday, early morning.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Riiiiiinnnnng!!!!*

"Fggdlflfdsl."

*Riiiiiinnnnng!!!!*

He covered his head with the pillow. Not here. S' early. M'n vacation holiday. Go away.

*Riiiiiinnnnng!!!!*

He cursed, standing up and blindingly going in the direction of the sound, bringing the pillow altogether, face half buried in it.

*Riiiiiinnnnng!!!!*

"M' going."

*Riiiiiinnnnng!!!!*

He suppressed a groan, took the phone handle and placed it in face. It was upside down. He turned it on the right position. Shrugging, he wondered that he didn't recall the phone was so far away from the bed. He spoke on auto reflex.

"Marko Residence."

He almost turned the phone off, choking, when he heard a distinctive male voice.

"Mr. Marko?"

He actually opened his eyes, which were dutifully closed before, looking around. Holy crap. He didn't leave to his guest room that night. He cleared his throat.

"Huh...... I mean, Brian's Office. He's very nak.. busy. Sorry for my answering, Walter. Home habits."

"Certainly, Mr Marko. It's very commendable to see you two so dutifully working, so hard, so early. Sir."

Kurt rubbed his eyes swearing to never answering the phone again. It was awkward enough and for some reason, it sounded oddly dirty coming from Walter's perspective. Walter continued.

"I'm afraid I have news concerning your boss Irene, Mr Marko, I believe you can inform Master Brian in person."

Kurt blinked twice. News from Irene? Oh god, did she die? That would be so eventful.

"Certainly. What it is? Is it a funeral??"

He could hope, couldn't he?

"Have you become a mind reader, Mr. Marko?"

Wow, he almost smiled. They would be free of the viper. They would..

"I'm afraid your boss is very much alive, sir, unless she can phone call from the dead. There is indeed a funeral though. Dr. Ryking's wife have passed away this noon. The funeral will be in two days in Alagomordo. Do I send written condolences by airmail in your names, sir?"

Did they want to go there and see Irene in person, if she wasn't the one inside the coffin?

Kurt shook his head, then told Walter he would interrupt Brian in his papers and ask him, and he would answer back.

"Certainly, Mr Marko, Dr. Adler is on hold awaiting her answer. She is glad she could deliver the message to you two together, her emphasis on together. Sir."

Kurt cursed under his breath, then placed the phone back in the table, walking back the distance from the office to the master bedroom. He approached the snoring figure, poking Brian in the ribs.

Face down into the pillow, Brian groaned something about the vaseline being on the nightstand and prefering to be poked elsewhere, and that he could gladly provide directions if Kurt would be such a darling, thank you. 

Kurt rolled his eyes, between amused and annoyed. As far as he recalled, HE was the one currently *curious* about being 'poked', after the impressive display of approval Brian gave recently that night, under the effect of a mere pair of fingers.

He then poked the blue eyed man again in the ribs. Even though the idea of prodding and poking elsewhere was entertaining, he had to answer Walter. Brian wriggled, and turned on his side, face still dug on the pillow, mumbling that if it wasn't in the right place he wasn't interested. 

Kurt sighed, facepalming, happy Walter couldn't listen to them, and spoke for him to quit being crass, for there was a funeral in Alagomordo and he wondered if now Brian was any interested. 

Face down on the pillow, Brian asked if it had been Irene, and if yes, he was very much interested and wanted to go in person to be sure, and that in case it was true, they could commemorate with further poking, for it would be a happy day indeed.

Kurt, now trying very hard to dissociate the words 'funeral', 'Irene' and 'poking', pinched his nose and replied it was Dr. Ryking's wife, not Irene.

Brian cursed their lack of luck, then waved his hand in the air dismissively, telling Kurt to order a written message, like Walter suggested. He nodded, going to the land line and doing so. When he was finished, he hung up, coming back.

"Sorry for answering the call in your office instead of calling you, it won't happen again. Fortunately Walter seems to think we were already hard at work."

Brian then snorted and cackled loudly face down on the pillow. For someome so intelligent, Kurt could be depressingly dense sometimes. Kurt raised one eyebrow.

"Oh, my friend, it's 5 am, Walter is incredibly loyal and discreet, but he is not stupid."

Realisation downed on him, and Kurt started gaping, mouth in an O, as Brian turned one single blue eye to him, admiring said 'O' and the images evoked. He smiled.

"Don't worry. Let's just say Walter is also very grateful for my discretion towards him to my father, in the past."

Kurt nodded, impressed. Brian indeed knew how to keep useful contacts and friends indebted with favours. Brian rolled over his back and ended up sitting besides him.

"Walter's discretion is unmatched, not an indiscreet bone in his body, Kurt."

He then proceeded to recall the events of sunday morning.

\---

Brian walked the guest room's hallway with the brown folder, a pair of scissors and some bandages and antisseptic in hands, still on his pajamas and wearing a black robe, intent of heading to Kurt's room and telling him what troubled him. Distracted, he barely noticed Walter, the butler, coming towards himself.

"Master Brian, good day, what a delightful cold morning to be right and up, I take you are feeling less indisposed."

"Good day, Walter, and yes and no, I'm better but still unwell.

"I hope these scissors take you someplace better than the morgue, sir."

Brian actually snorted. He had pondered on suicide before leaving his room, but a certain's friend's words prevented this fate.

"Actually I need to thank Mr. Marko for being there for me last night."

"Certainly, Master Brian. Of all your friends over the years, Mr. Marko seems to be the most trustful. He doesn't even seem intent on stealing madam Sharon's attention, for a change. He didn't even talk to her, all his time he either searched for you or was alone or with the children."

Brian smiled, somehow relieved for hearing it from his perceptive loyal butler.

"I may tell anyone trying to contact you that you are still unavailable, perhaps for the rest of the whole day. Sir."

Brian nodded, absently. Walter nodded as well.

"Then I take my leave, sir. I will ready your breakfast for later eating in the kitchens. I believe you may be late. One may only wonder how long will it take for the stitches to go. Sir."

Brian smiled, looking at his shoes. Walter tilted his head, wrinkles in his eyes, placing a hand on Brian's shoulder.

"Master Brian, if I may, I hope you find yourself in better spirits for lunch time. I will make sure we have steak today, a nice surprise for you and Mr. Marko. You look like you might have an appetite for some filling meat later."

He bowed curtsy, winking once and leaving. Brian shook his head, pondered on certain lean cuts of filling meaty flesh, flushed furiously, inhaled deeply, steadied himself, then resumed his pathway towards the guest rooms.

\----

Nodding to himself, Brian finished speaking.

"The rest, they say, is history...in hindsight, I should have seen I was the only idiot not seeing the obvious."

Brian snickered, a full smile in face, recalling he firmly believed in teaching by example and that example had been given the previous night. Kurt lowered his gaze, blushing: they still had the rest of the month, and going to Alamogordo was the thing they least wanted to do right now.

 

\---

 

Meanwhile, across the corridor, Sharon, somehow able to function slightly while drunk (a talent she will take years to truly perfect), opened the door of her room slowly, glad to not be hit by a wave of any colour and no feelings of any kind, and thanking the heavens for still being deliciously drunk, looking on the ground and taking the tray of food, and the bottle of wine left, thanking also good Walter for being so kind to her sanity, making sure her favourite kind of cabernet-sauvignon red wine would be available to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The family butler always knows everything. Fortunately for Brian and Kurt, Walter is on their side.


	31. Irene's mistake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene happened to have commited a mistake, and the mutant she so eagerly expected to come to life would be no more. 
> 
> The future didn't change though. Where and how would the future take place now?

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Municipal Cemetery, 19 January 1938, Thursday afternoon.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Irene followed the funeral services to the end, expressing her condolences to Dr. Alexander Ryking, whose six-year old son, Carter Alexander Ryking, was also present. She handed her third and less favourite scientist the written condolences sent by Brian and Kurt, telling him she was sorry of his unfortunate events, and that she would do everything in her powers to aid his son to cope with this difficult moment and already had a good boarding school to indicate for him.

Dr. Ryking nodded, telling his son to thank Irene for her kindness. He did, avoiding her glare. She smiled.

"Dr. Ryking, in this very difficult moment, perhaps it would be good if our esteemed collaborator Dr. Nathan Mildbury extended my help into placing your child into a good schooll and actually we proceeded vaccinating him before being sent there, to avoid nasty unknown diseases from communal living."

Dr Ryking pondered for a second, agreeing. Carter widened his eyes, clinging to his father mumbling he didn't want to receive a shot because it hurt. Dr. Ryking snapped, saying it would be good for him and that they would be heading NOW to the project's facilities for his immunization to take place.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, Irene's Office, 19 January 1938, Thursday night, later.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Irene was annoyed. She had this nagging feeling since the end of the afternoon, and it didn't even let her dine in peace.

Depressingly, she had made a mistake.

Yes. For some reason, the future timeline haddn't been affected by the mistake. But, a mistake had happened and the timeline flows smoothly as if nothing wrong had happened, and now she was at true loss.

This particular timeline begun 16 years ago when her genetic manipulation brought subject 03 into existence and into Dr. Marko's heart. It followed through beautifully when she achieved peak perfection by bringing the product an offspring that was wriggling happily within subject 03 until last night, and was the promised result of her work for the next nine months.

Well, todays's inspection proved that the little embryo lives no more. Strangely, it never affected the timelines.

It never affected them at all.

Which was mightly odd. First, Irene was never wrong. She might have had misplacements, detours, oddities, and even a few honest mistakes in the past, but a mistake that resulted in the death of one that was supposed to be alive in the future, otherwise the whole MUTANT timeline would never even exist, was simply too big a problem to NOT be an issue.

Appaled at the demise of the embryo, she cursed not being able to replicate the results for she had no current samples of Dr. Marko's genetic material. Examinating the dead embryo tissues, she discovered there was a mighty incompatibility within the X chromossomes from his bloodline, fragile X syndrome, and it would be very difficult to remove it from his bloodline, except by him fathering exclusively boys.

Then WHY, WHY did the future mutant timeline was NOT altered?

Irene certainly was missing something important. Something still occult to her mind sight. Or maybe overlooked.

She didn't know.

She didn't fucking KNOW, and she NEVER NOT KNEW.

It was driving her INSANE.

She sagged in her desk, in a futile attempt of relaxing. She snorted, complaining she much preferred the waiting game to the utter doubt and helplesness of these moments where everything in the world was very much according to the plans, despite such a fundamental flaw like the premature demise of the most important mutant of the future in years to come.

Knowing she wouldn't come into a solution now or on the near future, she resigned herself to wait. In few days her lovebirds would be back to work. She might have a new chance of taking genetic samples later. The future was already written, only the pathways had taken a detour. Everything was working fine.

Then why did it hurt so much to not have all the variables completely under control, if all was indeed fine?

She shook her head, wishing she could drink alcohol for a change. She might have welcomed some numbness today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--
> 
> In comics canon, Dr. Nathan Mildbury experimented on Carter Alexander Ryking as a child, by injecting him with his own essex-factors/x-genes. He also experimented actively on Charles Xavier under the authorization of his own father, Brian. Both bloodlines were more prone to mental and energetic-based mutations. 
> 
> The Marko bloodline was more prone to physical-related mutation (hence the Juggernaut's superhuman strenght, which probably has its original roots in Kurt's apparent effortless muscle power and raw strenght). So, Dr. Mildbury refrained from experimenting on Cain Marko. 
> 
> Never forget, all experiments had the approval and orientation of Dr. Irene Adler.


	32. Charles' Blossoming.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mind related powers seem to run among the Xaviers, indeed.

Westchester, Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 21 January 1938, Saturday, early afternoon.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a chilly saturday, and for a change the kids weren't on the nursery, but on the family room, where Brian was reading papers by the fireplace, undisturbed by the noise of the wooden trucks on the ground.

Charles had abandoned the colourful truck in favor of the blocks he loved, as Cain, after looking to see if his father was paying attention on him, took hold of both trucks and started hitting them together, immitating car crashes, full with noise, beeps, and the screams of dying people (Cain was one creative little brat!).

Kurt, oblivious to the children or even to Brian, absently chewing on brazil nuts and listening to the nutcracker suite on the grammophonne, lounging on the sofa, feet crossed over one armchair, head resting on another, eyes closed, humming altogether, startled awake when an unexpected tiny hand poked him repeatedly on the leg.

Looking down, he stared at the infectious smile of the five year old Charles. As if on cue, he extended his arms to Kurt, who looked at Brian as if asking for permission. Brian never noticed them, still reading in his absent-minded doctoral mode (which turned Kurt on to no end - he loved displays of higher intelligence and loved a good pair of spectacles framing Brian's blue eyes), delightfully turned off from reality. Sighing, a pang in his chest, he took Charles in his lap.

Charles was a quiet child, Kurt nodded to himself. He usually kept silent, even though he could articulate phrases very well for his age. He was often playing alone, even now that Cain was around. Apparently the two just simply didn't click like Brian hoped they would.

Attentively analising the lovely blue eyed boy, seeing his eyes gleam and beam with intelligence, Kurt noticed that for some disturbing reason he felt like HE was the one being analised, not the opposite. Charles seemed to stare deeply into his own eyes, boring into his soul, engraving himself like laser beams into his own retina. He felt a sharp headache setting, but kept his grip on the boy, as both shared their glance for minutes still.

Minutes felt like hours and in a sudden Kurt felt his muscles free to move. Out of reflex, for he had been immobile for a good while, he brought the kid closer, afraid he would release him and he would fall to the ground and hurt himself. He couldn't hurt his friend's kid, he loved Brian too much to let harm come to his boy. 

Charles, taken by surprise, squealed at the sudden embrace, hugging him, then turning his head to Kurt, snuggling against him, and finally whispering.

"Love you too, father."

Kurt kept very still. He didn't speak. He did think it tough. He sagged in place. Oh god. He was obvious even to a kid. Brian could read him like a book, Charles could as well... how come it had become his life?

Charles, the good touch starved boy he is, seized the moment of attention, almost drifting into a light nap. Sighing, knowing what it was to be touch starved himself, Kurt petted his hair, being then invaded by a nagging warmth in the back of his neck, pulsing in yellowish undertones on the corner of his mind. 

Turning briefly to Brian, he saw the other look at him with wrinkles in the corner of his eyes behind the damn hot spectacles, a smile in the corner of his mind, as if Kurt were the most amazing thing that had happened to him in his life after his own son, blinking slowly twice.

Brian stared, entranced, the hugging duo, sadly concluding Sharon was really not a good person, and had never remained even such small amount of time holding their boy, except for show to friends and family or social gatherings. Usually she resumed herself to buying clothes, toys and telling Charles to let her in peace because her nails weren't dry enough or beautiful enough, or he couldn't mess up her hair or her clothes and well...

For an insane moment Brian wished they could make a perfect little child together. Kurt would look lovely with a baby in arms. Shaking his head at his own ridiculous wish, he smiled and looked around, finding Fiona reading in the corner of the room. He cleared his throat, standing up.

"Fiona, Mr. Marko and I need to study a few papers at the Office for a while, please take care of the boys, we will be back later for dinner."

She nodded, closing her book and heading for Charles, who darted to her arms from Kurt's lap. Cain ignored the 14 year old girl, still playing with the two trucks on the ground. Charles relished himself in the new hug.

Raising an eyebrow to Kurt, winking once, Brian smiled mischievously, motioning for his black eyed friend to be the first to the office. Kurt, feeling flushed hot under his glare, taking one last portion of nuts, left chewing slowly on them, wondering he would never have thrown away a good loving man like Brian were he in Sharon's place, and that she had been very stupid for wronging him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles shows his first telepathic signals, still uncontrolled, like now when he temporarily paralised Kurt's body and read his louder thoughts in his mind. We may suspect he had been using his telepathy erratically for the latest years, since he often gets what he wants in what concerns food or play, probably coaxing people even to act lovingly towards himself, being the needy boy he is.
> 
> Brian on his side has shown some signs of odd mental activity as well, being oblivious to any powers he might have, and also being able to read the minds and thoughts that are object of his attention in emotionally intense moments, causing even pain sometimes, but his abilities seem to end right then, apparently limited to receiving/sending the louder feelings and surface thoughts.
> 
> Since Kurt doesn't recognise the possibility of telepathy, he keeps on believing he is an easy 'read' and thus retains some resigned peace of mind. No one can predict though how he will react to have been read all along, the day he ever finds out about it.


	33. Let the river run.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene reunites with Amanda Mueller, getting to an amazing conclusion.

Alamogordo Facilities, Irene's Office, New Mexico, 24 January 1938, Tuesday, early afternoon.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Irene sat before a resonably aged woman with very wrinkled skin, dressed in black.

Both sipped tea. The elder woman skimmed through data charts, radiation graphics, genetic tests, reports, and the latest news from the department of pathology concerning the dead embryo once belonging to subject 03 and KM-1936. Clearing her throat, she spoke into an aged hesitant voice.

"Irene, Irene, don't you think I am not the most skilled person to aid you in explaining the why's of such an spontaneous embryo loss, when I myself had been victim of so many in my time?"

"You weren't to blame, there was no technology back then, and Dr. Nathan Mildbury isn't exactly the most perfect of obstetricians."

"True, but even with your technology and your amazing hindsight and foresight, this embryo is dead."

"I know."

Irene sighed. There was no obvious genetic flaw, despite the fragile X from Kurt. The other X chromossome was perfectly healthy. The fragile X alone wasn't to blame.

"Yet the timelines are flawlessly smooth, I wager"

"Indeed. A true mystery."

"Irene, sometimes the simplest explanation, although improbable and fantastic, is the only truth."

Irene nodded. Amanda Mueller was the biggest collaborator behind the Black Womb project precisely because she herself had BEEN 'THE' BLACK WOMB, back in her time with Dr. Mildbury in late England, getting pregnant and miscarrying multiple times in her immortal but long and still aging life.

Amanda sipped on her tea, her thin fingers and wrinkled hands holding the cup unsteadly. Irene wondered she would have to revise all her writings and the timelines from the beggining. Certainly the simplest explanation is she slipped something, sometime. The timeline was perfect, so logicaly HER perfect mutant, coming from a timeline joining mental AND physical mutations, certainly has a way of existing, that doesn't involve the use of subject 03.

Which meant that either one of Kurt's five living brothers must have met some improbable distant cousin of the Xavier household and would have said child in the next nine months. 

How improbable would be that?

Completely impossible, she sagged. They were already married to other poor genetic choice women, besides, the recent three generations of Xaviers never included a single female kid. The only one that could have been available for this purpose was the stillborn twin of Charles Francis Xavier, and for obvious reasons she is out of the equation. Since Kurt's sister was also dead, there was no chance of Brian impregnating her.

She had been so sure about the combination. For certain, the only chance would involve Brian's female clone, subject 03, and the sample KM-1936 from Kurt. This chance backfired into a stillborn foetus though. Her favourite tall and dark scientist was unfortunately right about himself not being a good source for artificial insemination of subjects.

Since they never managed to create a female clone of Kurt, the opposite combination couldn't be tried. Besides taking a new sample from Kurt, which wouldn't work, she couldn't for the life of her imagine how...

How...

Wow.

W.o.w.

A cold smile started creeping on her face.

Of course.

She snickered on her tea, as Amanda, undisturbed behind her voil veil, smiled.

"Always glad of being of help in aiding you to ponder better on a solution, dearest."

Irene nodded, happy for the first time in days. She had indeed been overlooking data. And she was very glad she needed do nothing special, nothing she haddn't already done, beautifully even.

Her future powerful mutant was already a certainty, and she already did all she could have done, to make sure it would be able to be there in clock-precision time.

She commended herself on her own genius and gut feeling.

Which was why the timeline was flawlessly perfect and flowing.

Relieved to see she had not been wrong, except in overlooking this small detail, she smiled very widely indeed. Apparently the extremely improbable mutations she hoped to induce in at least one of her two favourite scientists need not be induced, afterall.

The explained absence of induction of said mutations resided on the utter fact that someone just can't induce into existence what have always been there.

All it needed was being actively under current use.

And simply as that, the timeline is saved yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline never needed mending afterall.


	34. Home is where the heart is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to leave Westchester and resume work.

Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 28 January 1938, Saturday, early morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had taken days, but finally Brian had been informed that his trusted lawyers managed to find the perfect house and secured the rent under the firm's signature, towards the Xavier-Marko Civilian Business Society of Dr. Brian Xavier, Genetic Sciences PhD, and Dr. Kurt Marko, Nuclear Sciences PhD, in the main interests of the American Scientific Community.

Once the paperwork was flawlessly due, Brian's most trusted lawyer, Dr. Bernard Shaw, took a flight to arrange for the furnishing of the house. He was the one who received the offending folder with Sharon's pictures and even though he had no idea on the nature of their relationship, and couldn't care less as long as he were dutifully paid, approved Brian's attempt of making a home outside of Greymalkin with the support of his old time colleague, one widower and another a quasi-divorcé to later rebuild his personal life and even get rid of Sharon in the foreseeable future.

As such, Bernard Shaw was more than happy to furnish, decorate, fill with a few choice books and a classic oakwook and mahogany ground tabled chess set, comprising of ebony and ivory pieces, a sturdy double chaired classy desk, a functional minimalistic kitchen, a small liquor cabinet, a wooden table tea cart with foldable sides, and made sure the guest room would be fully functional to house his esteemed colleague Mr. Marko. Moreover, he also made surplus arrangements like weekly laundry, weekly cleaning, installment of heating, renewed plumbing and repainting of walls and walpapering.

Both Charles and Cain were placed officially under Sharon's care, but in all practicabilities, they were tutored daily by Walter and the aide of Fiona, plus the rest of house staff, and for now would not be home schooled for they were still too young for lessons.

Promising to be back home every two weeks, Brian said his goodbyes to both children, followed by Kurt. Charles was slightly too eager to hug them both and say he loved them a lot!. Cain mostly waved a loud grunt and darted running towards the inside of the house, while Charles kept outside waving to them, beaming, as the driver took them away in Brian's car towards the airport, where the company's Lockheed awaited for them.

\---

Sharon, glass almost empty in hands, stared at the white chrysler leaving Greymalkin lane in the distance, through the windowsill in her quarters, shaking her head and sobbing loudly, pouring herself more wine. The colours and feelings and emotions from every single person within the house and vicinities were too loud and colourful, or dense and sombre and heavy, to ignore. At least she hoped to not feel Brian's second hand happiness for a long while.

For a fleeting while she wished she had been taken to Germany with her grandparents. She would have been spared her current shame. She sighed and gulped some wine down: she no longer functioned without some sort of liquor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New home arrangements were necessary. Lawyers as usual are fundamental. Sharon, of course, will keep spiralling down into alcoholism.


	35. Common Nemesis.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentinels get in the way and we learn a lesson.

Alamogordo, New Mexico, 29 January 1938, Sunday, late afternoon - 27 hours later.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Both were tired and annoyed and even slightly dead after 27 straight hours of restless flight and no privacy in the Lockheed plane. Getting to the Facilities, they didn't even bother reporting to Irene, merely taking Marko's Ford, parked at the company's garage since early January, filling it with their suitcases, and leaving, being momentarily barred by the two sentinels on their way out.

"Halt! Your credentials, Drs., merely a formality."

Kurt, on the passenger seat, elbow rested on the closed window, hand in face, growled and glared at the young guard, taking the rigid plastic card Lab ID from his suit's pocket and handing it to Brian, who already had his own card ready and handed both to the sentinel: he adjusted his spectacles, as the offending man skimmed through the pictures in the cards and both their faces, multiple times, making his comparisons.

"Well, son, we don't have the whole day, are you seeing something you like???"

The sentinel squinted at Brian, apparently not happy with the defiant tone of his question. He stared at the other guard, who shrugged and dismissively told him the two scientists worked here for 16 years and were hardly a threat, and that he should just let them pass. The first sentinel didn't seem convinced and lighted Kurt's face though.

"May I ask, sir, why you are not driving your own car, Dr. Marko?"

Kurt stared for two full seconds at him, idly wondering if throwing him a punch in his nose might get himself fired. 

Brian gave him a bored stare, holding his left palm up, looking briefly at their ID cards and lifting his chin towards them: the sentinel (almost scowling, remembering the previous question) handed him the two IDs back. Brian bared his teeth in a cold grin, placed both cards in Kurt's hands, then turned his glare at the offending guard.

"You may not recall, young man, but there had been an attack, Dr. Marko was injured and widowed in the proccess and he might have just recovered, still being unfit to drive. I believe this is enough explanation and you _will pry no further_."

The latest phrase echoed through Kurt's mind and made him wince, an icy feeling up on his spine. The two sentinels went very still for a second, then mechanically got out of the way, opening the gates in full silence, and saluting them a goodbye, without any other words. Brian groaned something on complaining about these imbeciles at a later opportunity, drifting the car tires noisily on the road, accelerating in full speed away from the facility, visible anger on his leave. 

Kurt slowly stared back at the seemingly numbed guards, feeling he didn't want to be ever on Brian's bad side, and that the whole display of angry protectiveness was one hot damn sexy look on him, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the long flight the boys are wary, snapping, and generally angry. Brian's bad side shows and unkowing use of telepathy takes place, like it had probably been happening for some time in his life.


	36. Welcome back, gentlemen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene hands her duo of scientists the bad news.

Alamogordo, Irene's Office, New Mexico, 30 January 1938, Monday early morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian skimmed his eyes over the folder in hands, slowly, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Kurt tapped his fingers on the right armrest of the other chair, glaring at the wall besides him, seemingly adrift, inhaling and ehxaling air slowly, as if counting numbers. Both pretended to ignore Irene, whose hands' fingers were interlocked together, a neutral look in her stare.

"Well, gentlemen?"

Brian kept reading. Fleetingly, Kurt looked at her, then turned back to the wall. Irene couldn't help smiling. The bespectacled man turned one page.

"It is unfortunate that subjects 03, 06 and 11 had been victim of contamination. We are deeply sorry. At least the others are fine and ready for experimentation."

Brian breathed deeply, closing the folder noiselessly, placing it on the table. Kurt followed the movement with his eyes. Irene offered for him to read, he refused.

"I know it had been a lifetime of work but these accidents do happen, Drs."

Brian adjusted his glasses, staring almost through her.

"For 16 years we had been caring for the project and NOTHING wrong ever happened. For less than a month YOU take care and three subjects die!"

"Yes, a veritable fact, you two are truly indispensable for the project. Of course, it would be to no avail bothering you during the last month, since Kurt was on sick leave anyway and you wouldn't be able to do anything alone here."

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but Irene raised a hand to stop him.

"I know, Dr. Marko, you would gladly and without any problem lend your access code to Dr. Xavier, so he could come by and work if needed, but we have double checks for a reason."

He closed his mouth, swallowing dry, tensing his body like an unsprung coil. For a brief moment Brian landed his right hand on his left knee, knuckles going white in an attempt to ground him. Kurt rested his back on the chair. Irene skimmed through them both, approvingly, holding her will to snicker.

"The good thing is you two are back and sound and we shall return to work. Science never stops, gentlemen. Now back to the labs!"

Kurt stood up, nodding once to Irene, holding his folded labcoat in his left arm, then glancing at Brian and leaving. Brian stood up, adjusted his glasses, mumbled an 'excuse us then' and followed suite, white labcoat hanging on his left shoulder, flowing on his leave. As soon as the door was closed, Irene spinned once on her rotating chair, smiling widely, satisfied that every pieces were falling on their due places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Kurt resume work with the news of the demise of the subjects. None are too happy about it. Irene is.


	37. Homecoming.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian decides upon creating his own lab in Westchester.

Alamogordo, Xavier-Marko household, New Mexico, 30 January 1938, Monday night.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian locked the door behind himself, collectedly, as Kurt vented within the new house, throwing groceries packs, suitcase and coat over the table, then sinking on an armchair, hands in face.

"Sixteen fucking years wasted! I can't believe the perfectly healthy subjects died!"

Brian sighed, collecting the coat and suitcase from the table and placing them on the guest room, returning.

"Do you honestly believe they died? Really? I tell you what happened, Kurt, Irene must have sold the subjects to some truly shady source. I don't mean the german source from where you would obtain samples absolutely not related genetically to ours, to avoid any chance of inbreeding, I mean someone else, shady enough that she had to fake their demise."

Kurt nodded, silently agreeing. It had been though spending the whole day there and looking at the empty coccoon pods under quarantine. It had been the worst mainentance day ever for him. He sagged on the armchair. Brian was probably right. He asked himself what they should do now.

"I'm afraid we might need to start an independent laboratory back in Westchester." Brian answered his thoughts. "I can't trust these facilities anymore. We will still work normally, but we may need to transfer the most we can to the new lab, even if it means rebuilding the subjects anew."

Brian left to the kitchen with the groceries bags, coming back with milk and biscuits, placing them at the tea table in the center of the main room.

"But none of this now. Now, a light meal then bed. Don't even think about murdering Irene, you know we can't do that, even though it would be a funeral I'd love to watch."

Kurt shook his head. He indeed wanted the viper dead, but food and bed didn't sound like a bad idea. He made a noncommital noise, taking one glass of milk and drinking it slowly, as Brian watched him drink, then methodically filled his own mouth with biscuits, almost like Charles uses to do, one after the other. Kurt couldn't avoid chuckling behind his glass. It looked cute and funny.

"You eat too light, these things can't sustain me for long. When will there be meat again? Is this how the rich keep rich, by not eating enough food?" 

Brian licked his fingertips off the crumble from the biscuits, slowly, then finishing his glass of milk with a slow lick of lips. Kurt couldn't help staring. Somehow it started feeling hot inside the room.

"I have filling meat very frequently, as you may already know, dear. Care to help me with one last serving of milk before bedtime?"

He gaped. Forget cute and funny. What in heavens doesn't Brian turn into innuendo? Even eating biscuits with milk in a sudden turned dirty, and he wasn't even thinking about anything crass. Except for steak, really, which is always welcome, but never crass. Not until Brian starts having ideas though. You know, better not to mention steak, or Brian might make impossible for Kurt to eat steak in public without getting embarrassed.

For a fleeting second Kurt wondered how much Charles would rub off this behaviour when he grows up, then shrugged, for it was too much time away in the future for him to worry, as a fatherly figure. On the other side, he almost hoped Cain would be as dense as himself, just to not need to answer embarrassing questions any soon.

Before he could ponder any longer, Brian stole his glass of milk, finished it in one gulp, licked his upper lips, then straddled Kurt on the armchair, knees bent, crotchs pressed together, mouths locked in the filthiest french kiss possible, whispering that perhaps it was time for Kurt to have his first 'proper first time' in a place he could be as noisy and raunchy he wanted and needed to be.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Greymalkin Lane, New York City, 30 January 1938, Monday, post midnight.  

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharon keeps her lids half closed, her magenta robes tied around her waist, nails elegantly manicured red, hair styled in fine delicate blond waves, lipstick flawless, her wedding band proudly displayed on her left ring finger, followed by a set of legitimate majorca pearls. Her right hand rested on a chalice filled with golden thick liquor. 

A neutral smile comes from the corner of her eyes, celebrating the silence. She was slowly learning to live, get herself dressed and pretty like a true upper class lady while dutifully drunk.

She felt so proud of herself. Today she even managed to sneak past Walter and got at the kitchen, stealing a full bottle of cooking sherry, good writing paper and a typewriter from the Library (for her hands were unsteady to handwrite). She even managed to avoid showing herself drunk to the two children or the housestaff.

She elegantly poured the sherry on her glass, raising it delicately and sipping slowly but steadly, the gulp bringing more alcohol than what it seemed. It was a good skill to acquire. Specially now she managed to find the right combination to be tipsy enough to stop all tose weird feelings and colours, but still remain functional and not a mess of limbs, piss, faeces, dirty sheets and awful make-up, and tears on the ground of her room.

Feeling bold, she decided she would try to communicate with her grandparents in Germany. She knew her letters would be opened and revised before sending, so she decided she would never give Brian the satisfaction of him knowing how much the whole thing affected her, and thus would not complain about life, much less hint anything about Brian's change of heart.

Besides, hinting any of this would mean her shame being posted on papers. Sharon might be a somewhat-funcioning alcoholic, but she wasn't stupid, and was intent in becoming a high-functioning one. She was high society and would behave so.

As she typed inanities, asked about the weather, complained on cricket and polo games being unable to be held in winter, commented on missing her grannnies and wondered how everyone was doing in Germany, her mind worked on pondering about the damn feelings she now could feel.

On the rare moments she wasn't drunk enough to enjoy the silence, but wasn't sober enough to despair on not being drunk, she could finally understand that these colourful waves were indeed feelings from other people that she could now feel. She managed to see Walter's smugness and pride, Charles's blissfull unabashable happiness, Cain's resignation, and Fiona's worry and preoccupations. 

On hindsight, she managed to understand that the creepy cold iciness she felt days ago had indeed belonged to Brian, and mused that it was how hatred looked like, and also after unwillingly being witness to lustful feelings between two house servants, the gardener and one of the maids, she learned to differentiate love and lust.

Revisiting her memory banks of feelings, she drank a large gulp of her glass, and sadly concluded that Brian was quick in replacing her in his heart: she could not fathom who had replaced her, but she just knew it had to be one of the pretty housemaids.

For a fleeting moment she wished him dead, or preferably alive and suffering some degree of bodily paralysis and never ever being able to have an erection again. Despite him being lovely and nice to her the previous years, and quite intent in making the sexual act enjoyale for them both, he lacked a 'je ne sais quois', something rougher and deeper that her teenhood boyfriend had and that could enthrall her completely.

Maybe Brian failed precisely because he was too nice.

Finishing the sugared letter to her older folks with many pleasanteries, she also finished the glass, pouring herself another, then taking the paper out of the typewriter, placing it inside an envelope and the envelope on a silver tray outside her bedroom's door. Walter would certainly take it, read it for Brian, then seal it with wax and mailpost it the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon tries her best to function with alcohol, finding some middle ground while typing a letter to her german relatives.


	38. The Dawn of a Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Nathan Mildbury, the respected mutant obstetrician, will be visiting the facilities at Irene's request.

Alamogordo, Xavier-Marko Household, New Mexico, 31 January 1938, (always a) Tuesday morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt awoke slowly at the sound of distant chattering. Propping himself slightly up on the bed, he saw on the distance the reason for his awakening.

Brian was happily phoning, talking animatedly with who looked like to be Charles.

"Yes, son, we will be home next week or so." He paused a bit, listening. "Sure, uncle Kurt too. How's Cain doing?"

Watching from the shadows of the room, Kurt couldn't hold a smile.

For some odd reason he felt himself burning with emotion, for being truly part of a family for once. For a first time, he didn't have a spouse always looking for his flaws and wanting to change him all the time, nor his father trying to beat him into a pre-stablished mold, or his wholy absent mother, or his bullying brothers, who envied him for having a room only for himself during his late childhood and early teens. No, he recognised it as what it was, undiluted love, no matter how come it came to be.

He kept smiling as Brian asked for Charles to return the phone to Walter, then changed to a serious voice tone, discussing home issues and duties for the house stuff in his absence. Sighing, Kurt threw himself back under the covers, still feeling silly and slightly sore about the previous night.

He thought he would feel somehow diminished for being at the receiving end of anything the first time it happened and that he wouldn't really enjoy it, except for the love and gratitude of being the one giving himself to the one he loved.

He was surprised and mildly scared however at how much he actually enjoyed the whole thing. Well, since Brian seemed to like it both ways, he had an idea it wouldn't really hurt, but he never thought he would actually want to repeat it. Three times. In a row. And worse, the only reason he didn't try convincing Brian for a fourth one was his beloved friend said he couldn't anymore for 'He was no longer twenty, for Lord's sake, Kurt, let me sleep it off, how can you handle it?'

Kurt frankly had no idea how he handled it. It felt different from the 'traditional' way he had been having pleasure, be it by manual stimulation or with his late/disappeared wife. For some reason, this way, he could have it multiple times. This way the orgasms seemed deep, originated from somewhere between the bladder and the lower back, spreading from within right towards his privates and then up his body, flushing him whole and leading to these amazing aftershocks, full contractions that made him double over himself, spreading like penicilium in a contaminated bacterial petri dish. Even after he was gone "dry", the whole thing was still good. Burning good. 

He should have imagined that everything that is forbidden should be good, otherwise it wouldn't be forbidden, right? 

He mused that was probably the reason why you never hear about ex-homosexuals. In other words, prejudices aside, law-enforcement problems aside, taking it up the ass was surprisingly good. And addicting. It took all his willpower not to pull Brian back and demand 'one more time, now!' at his sight on the phone. For lack of a better expression, he felt like a bitch in heat. Unstoppable. Shameless. Rrrawwrrrrrrrr!!!!

Brian turned the phone off, and as if pulled by a magnet, almost suffering some degree of whiplash, stared at his flushed face and wide blown irises, approaching slowly and asking if everything was right. Kurt practically purred, his eyes burning, looking and feeling throughfully debauched, idly placing a lazy thumb between the hem of the towel and the sinfully white flesh underneath, briefly mentioning in a low voice he didn't feel like leaving bed today.

Brian, caught by surprise for a full second, swallowed dry, blue eyes darting between the sight before him and the hand loosely holding his towel in a state between closed and open, his own eyes darkening until the blue ring almost disappeared. With a gulp, he took the phone back in hands, dialing.

\---

Irene counted the seconds. One, two..

"Riiiiiiiing!"

A dirty snicker filled her face. The honeymoon phase is so sweet. What wouldn't she give to be sandwiched between them. She knew they wouldn't want her there, but a girl could dream, couldn't her?

"Dr. Xavier, what do I owe your dutifully early call?"

Brian winced: he hadd't even identified himself. Irene beamed. Before he spoke, she continued.

"I see, it's Dr. Marko, poor dear. Is he boneless and weak from yesterday's hard work? Does he have a hoarse throat and cannot speak? Did he strain a muscle or something and cannot walk or sit?"

\---

Kurt's hand still rested on Brian's hipbone, thumb moving slowly between towel and flesh, lids half closed, a small smile in face. Brian stood very mute for three full seconds, thinking and flushing hot. In a way, all three. Damn Irene. His carefully crafted excuse went out of the window. Kurt was the sight of Sin himself. He sighed. "Yes."

Irene told them to stay home then, and suggested they had a through rest, slept early and ate healthy, for tomorrow Dr. Nathan Mildbury would be at the Facilities and she needed them both there, proper, prim, posh, clean, and ready, wearing their best threepiece suits. Brian was about to agree and excuse himself off, when he realised that his towel had fallen down, and Kurt was faking a sorry look, exposing himself by removing the bedcovers like the most delectable dish he was. 

Good Lord, he had awoken a monster.

\---

Brian's call went dead without a sound or goodbye. Irene, on her side of the line, could hardly wait for the next day to arrive.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, Underground Labs, common room, New Mexico, 01 February 1938, Wednesday morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unlike the previous day, where Brian had been earnsnared, this time the night had been dully uneventful, fueled by dull soup, and the blue eyed scientist taking his best efforts to sleep in thick wool pajamas, all the while Kurt complained he wanted beef or 'beef', and that it could even be either, he wasn't picky.

Brian sighed, promising they would dine out after today's work. Kurt rolled his eyes, but smiled. Already within the labs, both wearing elegant waistcoats, coats casually hanging from their desk chairs, white labcoats impeccably framing their shoulders, papers and documents in order over the desk, they waited.

Meeting Dr. Nathan Mildbury was rare, and it couldn't be avoided. He was just the main fundraiser of the project, a respected obstetrician, and also Irene's close friend, which was never a good thing. They needed all possible focus in his presence.

So, having to be the voice of reason, Brian cleaned his spectacles, paying attention with the corner of his eyes at Kurt, idly staring at the walls. He seemed slightly off. He had an almost stupid small smile in face, and for some strange reason his eyes were shiny.

Brian blinked twice. Being in love made you see things that weren't there. Obviously Kurt couldn't have started glowing out of nothing. It had to be his own feelings interveening. Almost as if on cue, nearly in slow motion, Kurt turned his eyes, blinking with sinfully long lashes, lips parting as he breathed through his mouth, right hand slowly moving to his mouth, where he captured the index finger between his teeth and gritted on the fingernail, absently, eyelids flickering twice before closing his eyes, and releasing his finger, resting one hand atop the other on the table, sighing.

"So good to see you, gentlemen!!"

Brian jumped at the booming voice, for he never saw when Dr. Mildbury came by. Unaffected, Kurt stood up, smiling and shaking the other man's hand, then placing his own left hand on the Dr.'s one.

"It's been indeed a long time, sir."

Dr. Mildbury stared at Kurt's face, taking slightly too long gazing. Brian, recovered from the initial shock, couldn't help a cold sneer.

"My my, Dr. Marko, it's so eventful to see you in very good health after your incident. I pray Dr. Xavier had been crucial in making sure you are sound and recovered, and I dare even say, you have never looked so fine. You are practically glowing! Life had certainly been treating you well."

Kurt nodded, in mute agreement, as Dr. Nathan released his hands, now offering his hand to Brian, who caught it with slightly too much strenght, shaking it, more a grimace than a smile in face.

"Certainly, Dr. Mildbury, all of these, but of course nothing would be accomplished if your company hadn't given _me_ the month away to help _my_ esteemed lifelong colleague."

Dr. Nathan and Brian exchanged a silent glare, as Kurt stared between both, for a fleeting second wondering things might end poorly.

If he weren't seeing things, he might swear he would have to separate two rabid wolves from their throats soon. He cleared his voice.

"Well, gentlemen, maybe we should progress into what we came to do here? Many things happened and we lost three subjects, so perhaps we should catch up."

Dr. Mildbury agreeded, placing his hand on Kurt's shoulder, talking to him too low for Brian to listen. Brian practically growled, following behind, boths hands behind his back, knuckles going white in visible hatred.

\---

Irene, upstairs by three levels, reminded herself of giving Dr. Mildbury a prize for his impeccable acting.

\---

Downstairs, placing himself between Kurt and Dr. Nathan, Brian opened the charts on the table, making sure it would make the maximum distance possible between them, at the same time commending himself for his presumed brilliance, and cursing himself for his stupidly unfounded jealously. Kurt is serious and loyal and would never give a stray look to of all people, Dr Mildbury...

...would he???

Sharon betrayed him, and he thought she would never..

Oh, Lord, he couldn't start getting paranoid now. Kurt wouldn't do it to him. Kurt was his faithful friend, his equal!!! Kurt...

"Dr. Xavier? Brian?"

Brian shook his head towards Kurt. Yes? How? Where? When? He blinked, then saw Kurt fleetingly stare at him, stall for a second, then look back to Dr. Nathan. Unconfortable silence. Icy tendrils creeping up Kurt's spine made him shiver and echoes of sobs and whimpers overflowed his mind. Instantly Kurt understood Brian was nearing nervous breakdown. He had to do something.

"...well, Dr. Mildbury, as you may see our work is truly dull, specially with the recent losses while under Dr. Adler's supervision, and all that there is to see lies within the trimestral reports held by Dr. Adler. We have nothing to add. It had been a pleasure to meet you again."

Kurt offered his hand to Dr. Nathan, clearly ending the meeting right then, as curtly possible, obviously breaking protocol and not waiting for the boss to end the meeting as it should have been. 

Dr. Nathan, a cold smile in face, taking notice of the protocol breach, shook the proferred hand once, nodding to Kurt, then to Brian, finally releasing Dr. Marko's hand, slowly, rubbing fingers together, as Brian's eyes darted between the touching fingers.

"Most certainly, gentlemen. It's always a treat to see you two delivering your best performances together. Dr. Xavier, Dr. Marko, see you in the near Future, hopefully filled by good wondrous amazingly incredible news indeed."

He gave a curtsy bow, turned on his heels and left the lab.

Brian sagged on his chair, hands shaking. Kurt stared at the sorry sight and sighed. No, he haddn't been seeing things. He wondered if there would be anywhere on the facilities private enough to take Brian for some rest and perhaps some needed talk. Brian raised his head as if spoken to, looking at him and making a "shush" with his index on his lips, motioning with his hand for Kurt to follow.

Soon both entered Brian's private quarters at the facilities, whose key he didn't yet give back. Once in, Brian locked the door and sagged on the single bed. 

Kurt sat besides him, holding him by his shoulders, both faces meeting by each other's foreheads, as Kurt whispered.

"You stubborn fool, how could you have such a fit of whatever it was, before the ever perceptive Dr. Mildbury?"

"He was sizing you. He was lusting after you! I just know it! It was in the eyes! And he had two eyes!"

"...Brian, I can't believe it. You are jealous."

Brian looked down to his shoes, mumbling a quiet "M'not.". Kurt added, huskly. "...yes, you are." Brian smiled but snapped anyway.

"How dare he say you are glowing! Only I can think you are glowing! What are you, a pregnant lady to be glowing around and getting complimented at for???"

Kurt snorted: pregant lady; sometimes Brian could be so absurd. Kurt looked at him, eyes almost starry, a small smile, and in a whisper, asking if it had been worth it to ignore him all night long the previous day. Brian closed his eyes, pondering: no, not really. Kurt reminded him absently that he had been promised a dinner out, and that this time he would be 'difficult' and demand the dinner date before anything else. Brian pondered on that too, snickering and checking on his pocket watch at his waistcoat, eager to make time fly.

\---

Upstairs, Irene and Dr. Nathan confrontated 'data'.

"Congratulations, Irene. You must be so proud of yourself."

Irene smirked into her teacup. Dr. Mildbury nodded absently.

"It's been ages I didn't see such a healthy constitution. When you hit the jackpot, you do it mightly. Excellent work so far. There's good solid money should you try your hand at animal husbandry."

She snorted, agreeing. It would be easier to herd cattle and throughbred horses: scientists are too moody.

"Truly amazing. I confess I have almost been tempted to pet and keep your glossy bullmastiff, but I feared that this scottish terrier of yours would try to bite my shins to shribbons."

Irene beamed at the comparison. Dr. Nathan continued.

"I expect reports soon. Install hormonal reading devices at the urinals. Have the company's health insurance revised. Prepare the infrastructure for the good news. Keep the press out of this. Tell me the due date so I can be around for the event. I am the only expert in my field able to deal with what is to come."

She nodded further. He finished his tea, bidding his farewells, promising to be back in a few months. He wouldn't lose it for anything in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ends up that Dr. Mildbury knows something our scientists don't.


	39. Lebensraum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus Schmidt is one of Hitler's associates, as usual moving the strings behind the onset of the newest war at the horizon.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Nazi Militia, Munich, Germany, 04 February 1938, Saturday night  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Fuhrer spoke with passion to his Nazi fellows after the eventful happenings of this glorious 4th February, in which he took control of the German Army and handed many key posts to his associates.

Germany needed a big enough _lebensraum_ to grow as a Nation and could be no longer stunted by the unfair restrictions imposed by the post first war treaties like the Versailles Treaty towards the Aryan people. Germany's shame had no limits. The Aryans had been turned poorer by the absurd accusations of debt and the indenization of 33millions dollars towards the winning countries of WWI, for the Jews who had grabs on power had made sure the germans remained themselves poor, indebted, dominated.

They already had troops ready to invade Austria by 12th February and Herr Fuhrer certainly had wondrous plannings for their kind indeed.

Toasting with no one less than Herr Doktorr Klaus Schmidt, who filled Hitler with crucial data coming from his trusted spies, Herr Fuhrer could hardly wait to see the promised events unfold during this and the next years. He was truly glad to have loyal accolytes by his side, even if they weren't sporting true aryan genes, like Herr Doktorr Klaus and his clad in black, very pale (albeit dark haired, dark eyed, and thus unfit for Aryan agenda) mysterious feline-graced and obediently muted fraulein.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 08 February 1938, Wednesday afternoon.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Their work leave in Westchester was marvellously uneventful, transcurring without problems whatsoever, and even the sentinels back in Alamogordo never even raised an eyebrow at them anymore.

Once they hit home, Sharon (whose letter to her relatives had been already dispatched days ago, after Brian's approval) made sure to never show herself up. However, according to Walter, she was "very much alive and drinking, sorry, kicking. Sir.", which was perfectly fine by the two current heads of the household, not really keen in spotting her.

Brian spent his leave absently-mindedly in scholar mode, not noticing Charles pestering - and giving up - him for attention, and kept most of the time reading and studying papers, catching up with Scientific American, and only allowing himself to be buggered at ungodly hours of the night ("No, Kurt, Scientific American is not acceptable foreplay, for Lord's sake, when did YOU become the bold one?!"). 

Cain usually kept to himself, and as long as no one bothered him, he never noticed or bothered anyone back, always running and spending energy physically around the house, climbing bookcases and generally bringing white hairs to Fiona the nanny.

Kurt on his side though remained half of the time where he knew not to reach for Brian, and also had nothing to do, by playing chess by himself, and the other half either reading, napping or mentally imagining the new lab Brian mentioned they would need making, all the while being pestered himself by lovable wee Charles, who remained sitting by the chess set dutifully watching him play with too big topaz eyes, and once even followed him to the bathroom to observe him shaving and asking all along why he had hair on his face and if he would one day have it too and that he didn't want to have it ever. Charles also usually remained around the guest room for lack of anything better to do, or perhaps because he found Kurt amusing, to the point of falling asleep on the bed once out of boredom while Kurt read a book on medicine at the padded leather armchair.

As such, in his third early night at Westchester, Kurt had been surprised by Brian coming to the guest room, instead of telling Walter to summon him to the Office for a late chess game or else.

"Am I interrupting something, boys?"

"Shhhh!!!!!" Charles beckoned for silence, then smiled, waving his hand in the air and calling Brian close. "Daddy, uncle Kurt's teaching me chess!!!"

He moved the black and the white pawns without any purpose or direction on the chess set. Kurt snickered, shaking his head. Brian ruffled the boy's hair.

"Don't you think you have annoyed uncle Kurt for too long already, son?"

Charles shook his head, saying he knew Kurt didn't mind him and was bored for being lonely too during the days, and wasn't annoyed at him, and also Kurt thought he looked just like his daddy with his huge blue eyes but without glasses, so it was really fine because he wanted to be liked and loved like his daddy too, and maybe one day he could even get a pair of glasses to be intelligent like his daddy and even get himself a tall and strong bestest friend with a big sharky grin and big shoulders and arms to hold him tight and he would be like a superhero and would also fly and have a uniform and a helmet and a cape, and would be there all for himself to live happily ever after, like daddy did now with uncle Kurt since mama was always drinking and crying and didn't love daddy anymore, then he beamed smiling.

Kurt coughed loudly, then deadpanned very serious, because for some odd reason all seemed frightenly and plausably true.

Brian just laughed out loud, complimented Charles on his creativity (a superhero who could fly and had a helmet and a cape, now that would be rich!) and told his son to go for Fiona to have dinner then sleep, and lead him outside of the room, locking the door behind himself, then getting a load of schematics and blueprints from a folder, spreading them on the bed.

Kurt approached, interested. It looked like the future lab.

"It is, dear.", Brian confirmed his thoughts, telling he would order his lawyers to hire three independent teams of contractors, who would build different sectors of the small scale laboratory, as such none of them would really know its full layout or its purpose, to all effects, a wine cellar, a frost chamber for meat storage, and a steam heater system. 

Kurt nodded, approving the distribution of workbenches, tablesets, microscope sets, and the likes. It was so good to just stay behind the courtains and let Brian take the leading decisions of life, specially behind those delicious spectacles. He was a total sucker for alpha nerds, and he didn't mind at all on his turn spending time with the children, specially intelligent ones like Charles.

"Cain is intelligent too, you know, he just doesn't show like Charles, he's reserved and bodily active.", said Brian without raising his face from the blueprints to see whether Kurt had spoken out loud or not. 

Kurt sighed, raising the blue eyed man's attention.

"I mean it, Kurt, you only have to find out what he likes doing best and accept it. I have a feeling he will be good with his body, maybe even become some sports champion or excell in the military."

Kurt snapped and complained he wanted Cain to pursue Academics, not to become a muscle-monster bullying buckethead, and that everyone always thought he, Kurt, was into sports and not science, and that everyone had been wrong about him because he wasn't a dumb jock like all his five idiotic brothers but a brilliant academic, and not in the slighttest bit self conceited, mind you, and Cain should thrive for intellectual pursuit as well because everyone could play football but not everyone could write a thesis and once old, most people no longer had their sound bodies to rely on and damn it, he was in a really grumpy and very moody day today and he, Kurt, felt like crying and having chocolate and even something fatty and deliciously greasy, and no, he didn't mean the other kind of meat, he really wanted some food that he didn't even know what it was, and moreover, he had no good reason for being moody and sad since everything was perfect, and so he would now pout, thank you very much.

Kurt thus proceeded pouting. Brian was amazed at the fact he haddn't mentioned blood-dripping steak.

Brian shook his head, smiling at the now pouting man, and telling him that not everyone could just play football, or be effortlessly strong and agile and even surprisingly flexible like himself at his 38 years without any training, then winked once, and added that from what they had already seen, he doubted Kurt would become any less 'able bodied' as he aged beyond that.

Kurt flushed violently, coughing at the memory of his flexibility and what they had done in the name of *cough* science while 'researching' about it. 

He had no idea it wasn't human standart to just arch his back forward and bend his feet behind his neck together, without years of training - well, he had now, after Brian had found him sprawling like this just relaxing his muscles one of these mornings while making crosswords, and nearly choked thinking he had muscle cramps or tetanus all over (which he haddn't - just an amazing flexibility and uncanny ability to generate hard-ons).

He found out back then, just like this, that Brian was a total slut for displays of exceptional physical abilities and peculiarities, and Kurt swore all along he wasn't even making an effort, just to be smug, and to have a reason to show off sprawling one leg up alongside his trunk, keeping the other standing down, keeping like this for a couple of seconds, then returning into normal position, then snorted, wondering he felt like a 12 year old russian gymnaste, and that he probably would have never noticed his physical prowess if he were still under his previous 'life' with Marjorie. He pretended being nonchalant about it but he himself was also deeply baffled and amazed, almost giddy.

Absently Brian asked if he could do anything more, feigning a blasé attitude. After Kurt snickered and started really stretching just to take a feel under Brian's fake uninterested scrutiny, he was slightly scared at all the stunts he found he could do, from full frontal and lateral leg stretches, arch right and left, double himself forwards and backwards meeting hands and feet, and just couldn't try his hand at it any further because he had then been tackled down at the mattress by a very amazed, aroused and enthralled scientist, and the rest was History indeed.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian sets up the hows and whens about the underground Westchester Lab, as Charles pesters Kurt for attention.


	40. Inglorious Bastards.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus Schmidt follows his own agenda.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Poland, Nazi Facilities, 13 February 1938, Monday night.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Klaus Schmidt read and re-read the letter in his hands, wondering why of all times, right now, at the brink of him inciting the Nazi into breaking the next World War, would Sharon decide she was missing her grandfather. Since she had married that british folk Brian six years ago, she hardly ever remembered she had family, which was perfectly fine by him, and sure proof of her genetic kinship to himself.

He sighed, wondering he was glad this - taking up relationships and generating offspring - was a mistake he didn't indulge in often. He was an immortal and as such, fathering any kind of children was problematic, for he always outlived them, even grandchildren. Even though he was a heartless bastard, he found it distressing to have to deal with faking his own demise after a couple of years, because it meant changing aliases way sooner than strictly needed.

Sharon was the only child of his own daughter, already deceased, product of his and Esmeralda's relationship before Esmeralda died of extreme old age. Usually Sharon's letters were slightly more joyous and she mused about one day cruising with Charles on the Caspartina through Europe, but now this letter seemed so emotionless and dull that Klaus wondered about what triggered that change of hearts.

Klaus was glad he kept his friends close and his enemies closer. Usually he left Irene to her own devices, specially since she kept sending him special gifts in cocoon pods, but knowing Sharon married Brian, who was Irene's direct contractee, he asked himself if the scientist had wronged her somehow, and if he would need to corner Irene for info, or she would hand it freely to him.

Of course Klaus didn't care that Brian might have been wronged in the first place: he was the most powerful mutant of the world, ageless and perpetually strong, and even though he loved nothing and no one, even though Sharon was not a mutant as far as he knew, it was still _family_ and if he could derive some degree of pleasure from making the stupid man suffer, the better.

He smiled coldly, rolling the pen in his hands, mentally chosing the words to write back. In a sudden, he was surprised by the ruffling of feathers from the windowsill.

Glaring to his right, he smiled at the huge, abnormally sized black vulture that had appeared on the window, then entered in hopping steps at the room, perching itself atop the study desk.

As he stared entranced and gruesome noises followed, the black beast hid its beak between its wings and morphed anatomically into a dark ball of soft glossy plummage, to later emerge on all fours, knees and hands on the table, back shaped by the velvety cape, head still hidden beneath the slick black hair.

In a show of agility, she stretched like a cat, licking what looked like fresh blood from her fingers, slowly sucking them all clean one by one, all the while glaring at her boss behind a smile. As he smirked at her display, she stepped out of the desk table into a human standing position, shaking her head and hair backwards, staring for one second at Herr Klaus, then as if she had done nothing out of the extraordinary, the Dark Queen caught the tumblr in hands and poured slowly the whisky in, handing it with pale hands towards him.

"Thank you, pet, very mindful of you, I indeed need a break."

The Dark Queen practically purred, adjusting her velvet black cape on her shoulders, sitting like a lazy cat on the sofa besides him.

"I see you had been successful in your latest mission. Congratulations."

She half-closed her eyes slowly, blinking to him twice.

"I hope there haddn't been too much bloodshed, nothing that cannot be sucked clean by your daft tongue and pretty lips. I'd hate to know any of it would be traced back to me."

He smiled. She cocked her head. He made a 'come hither' motion with his hand. She slided close, moulding herself into his arms, resting on his chest.

"Good girl, pet. I'll miss you the day you pass away."

She sagged on his lap, eyes closed, breathing even, as he stroked her scalp and her back. She couldn't speak since Irene had shot her in the throat as a Jaguar, and since Klaus Schmidt fixed her and brought her to life with his stored energy reserves, she was too feral to anything more than dirty assassination missions, wild bestial sex, and Hellfire club shows to keep up her own disguise.

Klaus Schmidt mused that this is what women are for anyway, and that he was glad her chamois leather collar helped hiding the scar tissue from Irene's bullet. She needed to remain pretty to act on the club, and to be able to seduce and slaughter the bodies of men.

The only next best thing would be a woman to seduce and slaughter not only the bodies, but also the minds and souls of these men.

He could hardly wait to awaken subjects 06 and 11 to life.

But now, to the phone call.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, Irene's personal quarters, 13 February 1938, Monday post-midnight.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Irene remained still waiting for the phone to ring, knowing who it would be and what he would ask. She sighed, bored, removing the phone from the handle before it even rang. Klaus' voice echoed through the line.

"Irene. Joyous morning."

She then proceeded telling him that yes, Brian Xavier had discovered about Sharon's infidelity and was now associated with Kurt in an illicit and illegal affair, and that yes, he punished Sharon by NOT divorcing her and blackmailing her with the instant pictures he received about her proclivities, and that obviously Sharon was spiralling down into alcoholism, which was how things HAD TO GO, as she had already discussed with him months ago, so that the most powerful telepath ever, Charles Xavier, would come into existence.

He complained he had overlooked that this little plan to trigger full blown telepathy in Charles would wrong his own dear grandaughter Sharon. Irene apologised, insisting sacrifices needed be made, and that he could rest assured that Brian had a terrible destiny on his way for the next months, albeit not worse or more warped than Kurt's himself.

Klaus tapped his pen on the table, telling Irene that she would better be flawlessly perfect as usual, for he would only ever accept sacrificing his grandaughter for his own great-grandboy's mutant fate if many others paid as well. Irene assured him Charles would be indeed the most powerful telepath ever, and mayhem and hell would break lose in his wake. He finished the call warning her to keep on her flawless path, or else. She bid her farewell, and the line went off.

Sighing, she rubbed both eyes. Her so called 'stepfather', for he had a relationship to her enabler Esmeralda, was a ruthless bastard, and would never forgive Irene for acting behind his back. Yes, indeed all she told him was truth, for she never lied to him.

He however had NO idea on her lies by omission. This game had been played by two since she manifested her own powers, but was smart enough to pretend to submit to her 'stepfather'. 

She shivered knowing exactly what Klaus would do to her when he eventually found out. She knew the odds of her failure were mighty, she had known the Black Jaguar would be spared by Klaus against her best wishes, she knew old Marjorie would be her undoing, she knew in the end she would fail and wither.

She couldn't however quit fighting and trying, acting to the best outcome sof the Timelines. Even if it meant she will be dismembered, buried alive, given to The Slumbering Apocalypse underneath the Great Pyramids to serve as his personal pythonise, or into the Jaguar's maws, to become Klaus' personal feast, she would keep trying.

She didn't regret putting the current course of events into action. Brian and Kurt were the best thing to happen ever to her own personal life. There was no way she would have given up on them together, just because slutty Sharon was Herr Doktorr's grandaughter!

No, Irene gritted her teeth while she still could, before she would have to quit developing further her plan in action and blanking forever her thoughts off the latest course of events, to avoid being prey to the development of subject's 06 frosty powers. 

Klaus Schmidt wasn't the only one entitled happiness and family. Even after she had forgotten, because Irene knew she would have to forget, the future she put in motion would still take place, and Irene would have won in the End.

Afterall, two had always been playing this War. And even though the Future was written, it wasn't set on stone. For now, it depended only on herself, and she was intent and set to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene has her own agenda as well.


	41. Of Empaths and Telepaths.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon tries not to be drunk for a change.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, Sharon's quarters, 20th February, Monday midday.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharon awoke mildly drunk at midday, startled by the swirls of many many swizzling colours coming to the manor. She knew they were male, they were amazed and envying the place, and were all ready to start working on something big, feeling pride, smugness and tiredness at the prospect of hard manual labour.

She pondered on the reason for so many men at the house. She didn't recall any distress from the housestaff, signaling structural problems and defects. There had been no water shortage, no lights out, and no apparent reason for the house to be filled like this.

Sure she wasn't supposed to show up before strange men after her indiscrections. Knowing Walter would be spying on her, she decided for once to avoid being totally drunk and see if she could gather further info by prying on their emotions.

Sitting on her bed, legs crossed by their knees, hands shaking lightly from alcoholic abstinence and body in pain, she breathed deeply, meditating on the emotional patterns of the housestaff she already learned to identify. She located Walter on the ground level, guiding a full team of envious souls behind himself, opening the doors to the wine cellar.

She wondered why would they be there. As far as she knew, so many men together had to belong to a team of repairer or builders, and there were no restorations underway. 

Following their signature patterns over the day, she realised they were spreading slowly underground beyond what used to be their original limits, concluding they had indeed been expanding up the cellar.

At the other side of the house, the same moving pattern of souls guided first hand by Walter, happened underneath the entrance to the kitchen's storage rooms, in what would probably become perhaps a cold storage room, instead of just a set of freezers lined side by side.

Breathing deeply, she focused on the trickiest one, taking place under the old plumbing and sewage system. Sharon wasn't stupid and concluded freezers and underground structures would need heating, plumbing and mused that this central mass of emotions/people might even link the three different settings together at some point, for all were in the same level.

Absently slapping her own hand for it to quit trembling, she widened her eyes. It might be too much mind stretching, but for a fleeting moment she concluded Brian was setting up a laboratory underground.

Sharon pondered egoistically that he was certainly hellbent in torturing her by deciding to work from home, on his very own personal lab and remain in Westchester all his available time, just to make sure she would never stray again, and probaly so he can always be fucking very creatively his new mistress, just to spite his now abandoned wife, because he could.

Life was unfair indeed, and despite having reached amazing conclusions by NOT getting drunk, her hands were shaking and her heart was aching at the thought of her once beloved Brian, aged 37 and in his prime sexual health and desires, loving tenderly and lusciously his new beauty under her own roof, repeatedly, and she decided THIS was a set of feelings she certainly didn't want to feel. At all.

Ignorance was a blessing, she smiled sadly pouring herself wine. Being momentarily sober gave her the possibility to muse on the house happenings, and to conclude things she didn't want to now in first place.

Tears of regret pricking down her face into her glass, she drank in large gulps, soon quieting the loud emotions around, eyes closing and mind falling into the blissful silent and dark void from where, if she could chose, she would never want to emerge from, anymore.

She had learned her lesson well. She would never feel anything again.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Xavier-Marko Household, New Mexico, 21st January 1938, Tuesday, right after midnight.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Please."

Kurt shook his head. No, and no. He sneezed, cleaning his nose on the hem of his pajamas top, the mucus flowing cristalline between his nose and the cloth. He snorted some of the mucus back in. Suppressing a shiver, he coughed once, feeling pain all over his chest and back, diving under the covers.

"It's good for you and you know it."

No, it wasn't good for him. No way in hell Kurt would take medication. Medication killed his sister. She was fine before the darned medic appeared, isolated and medicated her. Brian sighed, staring at the thermometer.

"You have a fever. Do you want the readings in Metric or Imperial? May I phrase the consequences in latin-based or greek-based nominations?"

Kurt grumbled he wasn't with a fever and that the thermomether was lying, and he was only feeling cold, and also that he was a Man of Science, not a poor sick boy, and ended by adding he wasn't even ill (because he never got ill!), merely indisposed, and he just knew he would be fine in the morning, as usual.

Brian asked himself for a second if Marjorie ever had to try to medicate him. By the look of the situation, never. Most probably Kurt manned up his rare illnesses, I mean, 'indispositions' alone.

"Metric and latin it is then, man of science. Fourty degrees Celsius! Two more degrees and your brain will cook like egg whites, hard boiled and floating free in cerebrospinal fluid."

Kurt mumbled that he rather liked eggs, be they 'au naturel' or hard boiled eggs, he wasn't picky. Brian flushed crimson then threw his arms to the air, cursed and walked to the ensuite bathroom, opened the cold water in the shower and resolutely went back to the bed, ripping the covers out of the taller man, who shivered at the touch of his hands and face to the air.

"Kurt, since you won't take medication, the shower is on, it will down your fever, please go there. If not for you, for me."

Kurt groaned that Brian was cute and lovely and dear, but wouldn't make him move from the bed, and if he tried coming close he would lift him feet first in the air and remain resolutely still untill he gave up. Brian sighed, remembering when he had been lifted bridal style, knowing it was true: he couldn't win by brute force.

He hated feeling powerless. Brian, despite smaller than most men, and not particularly strong, loathed not being in control, and almost growled in visible hatred at Kurt, sitting at the foot of the bed, and leveling his face with his, staring deeply into his eyes, raising his right arm to the air, then pointing to the bathroom, booming a command.

" _GO_."

In a sudden the taller man went very still, eyes glassy looking at nowhere. Brian stood up, still pointing to the bathroom, repeating the order. This time, Kurt stood up, and mechanically walked there.

Brian sighed relieved, following him. He still had authority in this family. He had just won an argument with a man three times his own strenght. That was the result of the brain power versus muscle power. That was...

He deadpanned, watching Kurt standing up still, fully clothed in wet pajamas, staring blindly at the wall, under the cold running shower.

That was going to be a long night.

\---

Three hours later, and Brian still didn't sleep.

He was annoyed. It wasn't the first time he ordered people to do something and they just plain did it. Not in the way 'sure, you are right, and we are totally doing it out of good consciousness', or even in a 'sure boss, you're paying, we're doing' way, but in a 'yessir' mechanical way.

Like Kurt tonight. It had been mightly difficult to take him out of the tranced daze once the fever was down. Hell, it was very difficult to even strip the wet pajamas out, not to mention his utter irresponsiveness to anything not resembling a command. 

Literally Brian had to tell him to breath a couple of times, because apparently the other man wasn't doing it on his own.

It felt creepy: it's one thing to have authority, the other is to have full complete submission of bodily functions like breathing. Brian wondered he didn't like what happened at all. He had to hand guide him to bed, all the while issuing orders in short commands, because taking him by force or trying to explain anything to the 'zombie' wasn't an option.

Now that it's been almost two hours Kurt had been sleeping, all the while never talking back and merely reacting to orders (yes, he had to order his friend to lay down, then keep breathing regularly, then sleep - and he did), and Brian couldn't wait for him to wake up properly and preferably conscious, to ask him questions.

He had a nagging feeling that it would be to no use. For some reason he could almost anticipate him awaking and acting as if the shower never even took place.

Brian sighed, checking on his wristwatch the time, grumbling HE would be the ill one upon waking, removing his glasses and placing them at the usual spot on the nightstand. He still had a few hours before morning.

\----

Foresight was a pest. Brian awoke sneezing, only to find Kurt already up as if he had never been even ill hours ago. Call that 'sleeping the fever off' indeed.

As if he had never even been manhandled into a shower, Kurt complained he must have sweated like a pig because his hair was wet and he tried taking a shower but the bathroom was a complete mess and he could barely wonder how come Brian did all that alone, all the while finishing to dress up for work.

Brian just stared, tired, at his now beaming and glowing friend. He honestly felt like jumping at him and strangling him, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

"Kurt, you really don't remember?"

Remember what, he asked himself, back turned to Brian.

"You had a fever last night. What do you remember?"

Kurt pondered. He remembered refusing medication. Then he was awaken today, and no, he didn't recall taking his clothes off. For a second he pondered if he had been 'abused', then concluded he didn't, it wasn't Brian's style, he liked a concious, moaning, panting and screaming participant: Kurt would have been awoken for 'anything'. 

Brian sighed. He thought so: memories out. He dismissed the loss of memory and odd behaviour to the fever, and just coughed a couple of times. He had been stupid enough to go to bed not entirely dry, and now he was paying the price.

Kurt absently asked him if he needed to sleep the day off, or if he would go to work like this, and if he wanted any medication or if he was good without and would sleep it off like himself. 

Brian just hid his face under the covers, whimpering and asking himself 'why me', and promising to not worry about 'medically ill Kurt' again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon feeds her paranoia and becomes increasingly bitter about life, as the unwilling use of telepathic commands plagues Brian's night.


	42. Fright night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Brian wished was an incognito night out.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 25th february 1938, Friday, early night.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They hit the ironwrought gates of the Xavier Manor on a rent car, since Brian made the point of NOT warning anyone they would be coming by. He wanted to slip in mostly undetected, have a change of clothes, and leave for the NY night for once.

Kurt thought it would be dangerous. Brian thought it could be exciting. As such, after leaving the rent car with the suitcases and taking a quick nod to Walter, both sliped in, as the butler smiled.

"Remembering your reckless youth, Master Brian?"

Brian snickered, comenting he merely wanted to dine out for a change and that at least this time Walter wouldn't need to cover him up for his father. The butler seemed to ponder on the subject, fondly.

"If you Sires would take an advice, I'd try the Plaza Hotel. There is the most interesting bar room exclusively for men there. You would certainly not be harrassed at the Oak Room by any unwanted suitors, much less damage your marriage. Sir."

"I see. Would 'Father' approve the choice?"

Walter rolled his eyes: as if he would suggest anything to put Brian in danger. Brian kept his snicker.

"Most certainly. He used to go there after Mother passed away, Master Brian. It is very classy, and not very fond of journalists either. Which is always a good thing. Sir."

Brian nodded absently. Kurt stared between both, trying to hide his amusement.

"Would you wish to call your driver, sir?"

"No need to wake him, I don't plan on getting drunk. I'm driving, just ready it for us. Make Father's late name useful and call us reservations, please."

Walter gave a curt nod, leaving. Kurt put both hands in his coat's pockets.

"So much for stealth. Now everyone knows you are home."

"I rather like hiding in plain sight, dear. Besides, Walter is the only one in the household one cannot hide from. He's the soul of the manor."

Kurt nodded, asking the kind of attire for such momentous occasion. Brian patted his shoulders once, winking that he wanted to be surprised, leaving to his own room to change. 

Kurt, left on the hallway, took a few more seconds pondering, nodded to himself, then walked to his own suite on the first floor, opening the wardrobe and taking a look at the small collection of suits hung in there.

Not belonging to the upper class circle, he had no idea on what to wear, much less what to expect on a gentlemen's bar room. He had been as nerdy as possible and hardly went to any kind of nightly entertainment during the latest years, except for the cinema once with Marjorie when his mother came to visit and insisted she would keep an eye on Cain (and he resolutely decided on never trying this again the moment he and his late wife hit home and Cain was crying and throwing a huge tantrum, as his negletful mother slept soundly on the sofa besides the turned on radio). 

He even doubted his suits would be enough to the occasion, but he would try his best. Aiming for classy and at the same time avoiding looking like a penguin, he took a black threepiece single breasted suit, aristocrat style, white undershirt, red tie, shiny black leather shoes, sterling silver cufflinks, and his Oxford Signet. He regreted for once not owning a pocket watch. 

Pondering he wouldn't have any way of making himself look better, he moved out of the guest room, taking his time at the leather armchairs located before the main room's set fireplace, waiting, skimming through the last edition of Scientific American over the side table.

He never noticed the moment Brian came from behind the armchair, resting a hand on his shoulder. As he closed the reading material, Brian manoeuvered himself from behind the armchair to before him, posing at a slight distance with a full smile, rigth hand on his trouser pocket.

Kurt smirked as he took his time savouring the dashing sight before his eyes. Sporting a gilt chain fob, double Albert style, watch held on the left pocket and pocket-knife on the right, framed by the royal-blue double breasted waistcoat over the light blue shirt and navy-blue tie, Brian beamed like a diamond with his personalized gold cufflinks sporting an 'X' each, topaz eyes completing the blue on blue look, coat hanging loosely on his left shoulder, held by his left hand, where he had his shiny golden Oxford Signet shadowing the wedding band.

\---

Upstairs, Sharon awoke from her perennial drunken state cursing her life. Not even heavy drinking could fog Brian's sunny disposition when he was genuinely happy, for he showed in pulsing warm undertones even beneath all the alcohol. No one had to tell her the moment he felt handsomely edible, red lust pulsing amidst the yellow glow.

Right now she was so drunk she could feel no one else, which was why she felt she would be safe. Brian however was fully unmistakable, and only passing out drunk could make her NOT see him.

'Dashing bastard. Handsome devil. Lustful minx!', she thought bitterly, envying his mistress. For some odd reason she had received a projection of a full mental image of him literally dressed to kill, in her once favourite blue on blue combination, sporting his golden-plated pair of spectacles specially for social occasions, blue eyes shining underneath the crystal lenses.

Of course she was sure this had been meant specially to make her miserable. She was positive Brian did this on purpose. She loved that pair of spectacles!...

As such, she proceeded back to the cooking sherry, which had numbed her slightly better than wine in the past, resolute in NOT showing defeat.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Brian's Master Room, New York City, 26th February 1938, Saturday, hours later, post midnight.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Anticipation nearly killed him: the whole night since they met at the main room downstairs, he had wanted to give up on dining out, and just return upstairs into this very room and this very bed.

He however wouldn't give up on just for a little bit parading Kurt on the hedonist and highly tolerant NY nightlife. It was thrilling enough to stop his starkly white royal chrysler before the gates of the Plaza Hotel, leave the vehicle, hand the valet the key, and then proceed to walk side by side with his delectable partner on the red carpet, reaching the inside of the Oak Room.

As he saw, Father's name still opened doors, and he could see the vehement glare the porters and concierges gave him, waving them both the way towards a semi-private table besides the piano, at a cosy corner down the restaurant, before the waiter brought them as courtesy two Classic Sidecar drinks, leaving the menu for them to chose upon dinner.

Placing his pocket watch back at the golden based, velvet-lined watch holder, he smiled at Kurt, who had been sitting lazily over the leather armchair by the fireplace, eyeing him back: Brian had been hit by the flash memory of them both eating in companiable silence 'le canard à l'oranges' and exchanging slow, lewd glances behind sofisticated glasses of bubbly french champagne.

The moment the show had begun and the sad piano player started playing, he moved from across the table and behind his tumblr, held by his right hand over the table, he couldn't help a small smile, as his left hand loosely rested atop Kurt's left leg, squeezing the muscular thigh slowly, under the table cloths, away from prying eyes. He couldn't help smile as the other man barely avoided flushing, shifting from the drink to his glass of fresh water, sipping slowly, looking straight ahead and bringing the right leg closer.

He rather liked the 'hiding in plain sight' game, he muses, methodically taking the golden cufflinks away and storing them on a black velvety box besides the watch holder, knowing he was being watched with hungry eyes he had been feeding through the dinner date with dangerous mental images, deliberately, since the night begun.

He wouldn't be able to recall the name of the music even if he had been given it print on paper; his focus was entirely bent in teasing while keeping a straight face. He even raised his champagne to the group of three older men watching the piano, in mute approval of the show, all the while running his left hand higher and higher, barely avoiding the 'target', counting on his partner's usual collectedness.

Unbuttoning the double breasted waistcoat, he now walked under the attention of a pair of dark eyes before the leather armchair, stripping his garment off slowly and placing it neatly folded over the oaken chest of drawers, recalling the moment before dessert, when he spoke lowly into his ears that his full discretion would be mightly rewarded later, tonight.

He haddn't been disappointed back then, having shifted back to his seat across the table once the piano was over, facing his companion while savouring his 'petit gateau', as under the tablecloths, his own left foot deliberately moved up Kurt's calf and up, and the other closed his eyes in the middle of a forkful of dessert, inhaling deeply and closing his lips in a humm too low to be heard out of the table. Brian smiled, knowing the true reason for the pleasurable approval. The bastard knew how to be very discreet indeed.

Blinking slowly back to the Present, as he now approached the leather armchair from behind, with his white undershirt partially unbuttoned, Brian purred at Kurt's ears after a slow lick on his earlobes that he had been a very good boy and deserved a prize indeed.

 

\---

She couldn't stand it anymore. Even drunk, she could still distinguish Brian, and since a couple of minutes ago, the red-hot and yellow pulses returned fierce, nearly choking Sharon in her wake.

Closing her eyes, she could precisely locate the origin of fhe waves, coming right from the Master Bedroom, right across her door.

She growled, pondering that it was too much a humiliation, to have your husband's mistress right besides you, and do nothing. She was too drunk to care about being exposed for her proclivities, but sober enough and bold enough to feel able to throughfully hit and maim said mistress... right now!

\---

Mid-thrust, panting heavily into reddish, bite-swollen lips, abandoned in the act, he never heard the moment he had been barreled from behind and thrown to the other side of the room, stark naked, entangled with no one less than..

"SHARON??!"

"Adulterer!!!! You dare bed your mistress in MY bed right under MY NOSE!!!!!!"

"Adulterer??? Look at WHO IS TALKING! GET OUT NOW!"

He pushed her away towards the door, as she stumbled on her own feet to the ground, hitting her face on the corner of the bed; Brian quickly collected and tied his robe it around himself, moving between the bed and Sharon, who was trying and failing to stand up, his position shadowing Sharon's sight of the one who had been the object of Brian's attention, now in shock and hiding the best way he could face down under pillows and the sheets, resolutely mute.

 

"Stop hiding from me, whore, show yourself if you are a real woman and have the galls!! I can bend you under my thumb, my influential grandfather will have you under!!!"

Brian fleeted a glance between the immobile and mute Kurt and the drunk-flushed anger filled woman now sobbing and crying by his feet, and wished she were dead. As if on cue, she choked, then gritted her face, whimpering in pain, dark dense shadows swirlling around her sight, chilling gosebumps hitting the hairs in her forearms.

Brian merely shook his head.

"Sharon, you are drunk, I am not having this discussion with you. My... companion is not your business and doesn't deserve your drunken and double-standarded spite!"

Another hateful spike of dread hit her: once the pulse was over, she directed herself towards the bed again.

"YOU ARE A WHORE, YOU KNOW??? HE IS A MARRIED MAN, HE IS MARRIED TO ME, I AM THE ONLY EVER MADAM XAVIER THAT THERE WILL BE, I WILL FIND OUT WHO OU ARE AND HAVE YOU KILLED, PETTY SLUT!"

Fuming in hatred now, Brian raised his hand to her face and shut her down in a single loud slap. She winced from the hit and from the chilling dark wave of emotions hitting her whole body.

"The only petty slut and whore here is you. Don't make me want to hit you for real."

Sharon rubbed her face, the slap having more a moral effect than causing permanent physical damage, remaining sitting on the ground, whining and finally crying loudly. 

"Shut. Up. You bring the worst in me. You have no right to judge me or my.. Just. Leave."

She kept crying and weakly spitting 'whore, slut, family-ruiner' at the bed, unable to stand up from the heavy cloud of icy dread, her left eyebrow split on the side from her fall, her face sporting a hand-shaped reddish mark. In a final move, Brian caught her from the hem of her robe and making her step unsteadly, pulled her out of the room and threw her on the ground in the middle of the hall, calling for Walter.

Now crying incoherently, Sharon sagged on the carpet, as the butler approached slowly.

"Master Brian?"

He pursed his lips, shaking his head, pointing to Sharon. Walter looked between them, nodding, as he knelt down and Brian just returned to his room, locking the door with four turns of the key.

\---

"Kurt?"

Silence. Brian frowned.

Coming closer, he looked at the bed, finding it empty: a cold fear rose up his spine. Turning all lights on, and taking a stroll on the room, he came to a terrifying conclusion.

Kurt was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon goes berserk, turning the night out a full blown nightmare, and Kurt disappears.


	43. Mission Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn Walter takes his work very seriously and Brian has once again glimpses of telepathy.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Sharon's Room, New York City, 26th February 1938, Saturday, 02 AM.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

She shook Walter's hand away as he took her into the room and locked the door from behind. He kept an impassive glare. She snapped.

"Do you think I don't know you are by his side???"

Walter remained resolutely silent.

"ANSWER ME!!!!"

"Sorry for disappointing you, madam. I answer to Master Brian."

She howled, gritting her head, then turned her back on him.

"You are all being unfair to me."

"Really. Madam."

"Brian was fucking his mistress right under my nose!! I have rights!!!" - she turned.

"Did Master Brian ever barge in and interrupt your alone time with your former boyfriend. Madam."

She palled a bit, pacing to an armchair and sitting.

"Who else did he tell?"

"He is a better person than you, madam. Master doesn't kiss and tell. But you never fooled me. I just didn't have a way to prove before."

Sharon went very mute, beginning to feel the purplish shades of smugness emanating from the butler.

"So you are behind the pictures?"

"Let's say contacting a detective and billing it under 'household security' paid off afterall. Madam."

"You weren't even being paid for it then..."

"Some things we do aren't for money or social position. If madam had any friends for real, madam would know."

He turned on his heels, taking the key off the door, and starting to leave the room.

"I will be bringing your meals personally from now on. You are not leaving this room in the foreseeable future."

He finally left, locking the room. Outraged, Sharon screamed at him through the door.

"I didn't hear Brian giving you this direct order!"

Walter stopped on his step, returning a bit and whispering through the keyhole.

"No, but Master will appreciate the initiative." he straightned himself - "A light late meal of cheese sandwiches is on the way. Should I bring you some 'tea', Madam?"

The scream of "FUCK YOU OLD HAG!!!" came through the wooden door. Walter bowed, snickering, pocketing the key and promising to return with more than enough 'tea'.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Brian's Office, New York City, 26th February 1938, Saturday, 03 AM.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian paced like a caged beast through the office, now fully dressed in casual clothing, a dark blue robe, woolen socks and a pair of slippers, his usual black spectacles in face. He had no idea on where to search for his friend.

After the brief conclusion that he wasn't on the room anymore, he searched the whole place for an escape route, finding none. He even searched the secret passage between the bedroom and the downstairs library, to no avail.

He had no desire to attract unwanted attention by setting the whole house on a searching party, but he knew that alone he would't locate Kurt.

Specially not now: in the heat of the night, counting on their incognito arrival, both had been too reckless in forgetting to lock the damn door.

How much he hated Sharon. Well, he shouldn't have expected her to remain quiet forever, even under the threat of the folder. In truth he knew he wouldn't publish anything, because his own image (as the betrayed husband married to the whore) and the one of his son (son of said whore) would be as well.

Brian cursed himself, heavy tears rolling on his face, at first in small sobs, then exploding into a breathless convulsive cry.

As a pounding migraine set between his eyes, tensing his neck, he gritted both temples with his hands, breathing through his mouth, hyperventilating: the sounds surrounding him became so sharp that he thought he could even make out the noise of dry tree branches being broken and frozen leaves ruffling outside the windows.

Closing his eyes, in the quiet of the room, he thought he could hear very well Sharon's cry, and mused he would have to send her to live in another house, or maybe keep her in an asylum of sorts, in order to have some peace.

Still with his eyes closed, he focused instead of the thumping and thuding soft noises, followed by the ruffled winter leaves, and a fainting breathing noise he thought he could recognise, at each thump and thud. 

Out of nothing, he could listen to Walter humming in the kitchen while preparing a sandwich and taking a bottle of red wine, and finally leaving clearly intent in taking these for 'madam', who was now locked through keys in her room (mental note, give Walter a pay raise).

Followingly, he would swear he could listen to Sharon screaming or talking very loudly about murdering Brian in his sleep with the insertion of knives and heated iron up his ass, and hanging his mistress through her guts still alive for both to agonize until death.

Brian frowned a bit, musing that Sharon was a creative one, the moment he had been hit by the sound of a fist punching through glass, once twice, than the unmistakable voice of...

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Nursery Room, New York City, 26th February 1938, Saturday, 03 AM.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Cain awoke to the noise in the window, insistent and knocking. Blinking twice, he walked there, getting scared at the shadowed contour through the glass.

"Father?"

Outside of the windowsill, holding himself with one hand and the two bare feet, Kurt, partially dressed with the white undershirt and the black trousers, knocked again.

"Open the window or I'm breaking it!"

Mildly scared, Cain did. Kurt neatly jumped inside, landing on his feet and hands like a cat, then standing up slowly, rubbing his hands to soothe them. He had managed to dress and escape through Brian's window, and used his physical prowess to climb through the outside of the house and manage to reach the nursery. He was intent in getting to Cain.

"Dress up, we are leaving. Now."

"But Father, what happened?"

"Sorry, son, it's dangerous. We have to go."

"But what about Charles? And uncle Brian? I'm not leaving!"

Kurt closed his eyes, suppressing a scream: he had the same insecurity of his father, and instead of being cute, right now it was annoying as hell.

"Don't, Cain. Later. They will be fine, but you and I need to go."

"Is it Mother?? Is she back to kill us??"

Kurt mumbled the quietest 'I wish' possible. The adrenaline rush that made him walk away earlier was now leaving his limbs and he felt dangerously numb, sagging into Cain's bed, facepalming and begining to sob.

Cain, not knowing what to do, seeing his father cry like a child, looked around, finding Charles beginning to wake up on the other bed. He approached, telling the other boy to keep Father company, and left running before he got an answer.

Charles, blinking the sleep away, uncovered himself and carrying his pillow next to the body, stepped slowly, laying a hand in Kurt's knee. He looked down to the blue eyed boy, cleaning his nose, then lifting Charles to sit on his knee, holding him to continue crying.

Charles held him back, as within seconds the nursery door opened, and Cain came in guiding Brian by the hand.

"Uncle Brian, he's here."

Brian breathed deeply, mumbling a 'thank god' then screaming for Fiona. The girl, sleeping on an adjoined room, came in on her sleeping gown and a white robe, widening her eyes.

"Please keep the boys here, and don't let anyone besides Walter or me to come in."

She nodded, taking Charles from Kurt, as Brian guided the other man out, closing the nursery, locking it on his leave, throwing the key back in under the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt (intent in reaching Cain) tried escaping from shame by climbing the outside of the manor, getting rescued before being able to run away.


	44. Sharon's Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt has post traumatic stress, and we learn of Irene's ties with Walter.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Kurt's Guest Room, New York City, 26th February 1938, Saturday, 04 AM.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was kneeling face down into the toilet, throwing his guts up. Acute stress can be a veritable pest, causing from stomach pain to nerve induced nausea. In between vomiting, he would spit out loud at no one in particular.

"I am NOT a whore!"

Brian sighed, rubbing his face where he had been hit by the barreling Sharon, pondering it would bruise. He definitely would send Sharon to an institution; if anything, some time in an asylum will bring her credibility down in what regards potential financial claims and denounces on his own proclivities. The insane get no credit, afterall.

"I want to rip her liver out and roast it fresh before her eyes as she bleeds and feed it back in forkfuls! With sauce!"

Humour the mentally altered, Brian thought, just nodding along with Kurt's spiteful curses.

"Yes, and you wouldn't even need to 'flambé' it, dear, it's alcohol soaked already. The stink, musty wine and oily sherry together with expensive parfum, I don't think it will come out of where she touched me any soon. I tried scrubbing."

He approached, stretching an arm, palm up, asking Kurt to stand up. He took his hand and did, stopping by the sink to brush his teeth, spitting the toothpaste violently a couple of times. He was revulsed by hatred and the bilis was worsening things. He even got dizzy a couple of times and had many abdominal cramps since he finally reached the room.

"Will you be here on this room when I return, or will you climb up the walls and windowsills like the _cat_ you are and try to go away with Cain again?"

He lowered his gaze, whispering 'sorry' as he was guided into a reclining position on the bed. Brian gave him a kiss in the forehead, leaving the room to issue Walter orders for the next day.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Irene's personal quarters, New Mexico, 26th February 1938, Saturday, nearly sunrise.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She smiled with a cruel gleam in her glassy eyes, very much content that she could avenge her hatred and anger from Klaus Schmidt on his unsuspecting grandaughter. She remembered fondly the day Walter phoned after detective work: the ad had been placed at the NY Times, where she knew she would have been handpicked by the butler, and their mutual collaboration begun.

He would keep her informed of madam Sharon's whereabouts, and she would issue commands and orders to make sure the timelines would flawlessly merge, by requesting mail, familial details, and made sure to keep her phone line open to the Xavier household.

Nodding to herself and snickering at the thought of the letter from Kansas Walter had intercepted and sent herself, Irene couldn't help cackle remembering the day she forged the pictures of Sharon's proclivities, and had them sent to Brian's lawyers, all the while making sure Walter knew she did it, and would have never got there without him.

Knowing the butler had the same 'affinities' her two boys had, she knew he would side with them. Now they are all against Sharon, and the next day Dr. Chandra would proclaim her estate of insanity, sending her to Salem's Women Asylum for the Mentally Insane, where ladies with anorexia and bulimia, nervous constitutional diseases, post-partum madness, and just any mentally retarded undesired children or even plain spouses the husbands might wish to get rid of (to be able to remarry their mistresses) under any number of excuses ranging from hysteria to cleanliness neurosis and even attempted murder.

A true Hell on earth. The inpatients were subjected to the most modern treatments of the century, including carefully controlled electroconvulsotherapy by shock, freezing cold baths alternated by burning showers, estate of the art medication, and of course, good old lobotomy surgeries to the hopeless cases, when everything else fails.

Wondering life wasn't fair and that in truth Sharon didn't deserve all that much, maybe just some scolding and spanking (that Irene would be more than happy to 'provide'), she apologised to no one specifically, nodding absently that Kurt would need peaceful times for a couple of months and nothing should disturb her plans, indeed.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Sharon's bedroom, New York City, 26th February 1938, Saturday, 09 AM.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dr. Chandra came from inside the room followed by Walter, holding his wallet and the stethoscope, staring at Brian's face.

"Well, Dr., what would be the diagnostics?"

The medic removed his glasses, cleaning them slowly, starting to speak. He mentioned hyper-acute alcoholism, alcohol-induced dementia, delirium tremens and rampant agressiveness at the briefest alcohol abstinence, and potential evolution into cirrosis, liver cancer, malnutrition, anorexia, and finally loss of fatty substance from the brain and neuron's axoniums, causing electromagnetic disturbances at the conduction of neural impulses and ultimately, fatal alcohol poisoning and kidney, heart, lung and liver collapse.

Brian stared impassive, sporting his previous night's bruises in face. How much (knowing that no matter the price he was sending Sharon there anyway), he asked in a calculated glare and neutral tone. 

Chandra mentioned the Asylum was expensive, Xavier-expensive, but was worth it if he wanted to have her out into a healthy diet, free from poisons like alcohol, would be supervised 24h a day, and had a real chance of recovery in the end.

Musing he didn't really feel like her recovering, but knowing he couldn't just plain kill her and that he just didn't want her in the same house anymore, he kept the thought to himself, nodding to Dr. Chandra and extending his hand for a handshake.

"Perfect. I'll trust you to be my ears and eyes within the Asylum, Dr. Do any and everything possible, she's my son's mother, even if she had been agressive to me. We have to at least try."

Not very hard, he snickered for himself, and yes, please, lobotomia, please, he pleaded in his mind. The doctor nodded, tilting his hat and leaving, telling an ambulance with orderlies would be arriving to collect Sharon until the middle of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In comics canon Irene is part of the Sherlock Homes universe. Henceforth, her Detective side work.
> 
> Meanwhile, Brian and the Family doctor agree to intern Sharon in an asylum.


	45. Asylum.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon has her first experience at the Asylum.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Salem's Women Asylum for the Mentally Insane, Salem, New York, 27th February 1938, Sunday morning.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She opens her eyes in an alien room, all stark white, padded walls, one single light spot from the ceiling, hands and feet tied neatly behind herself through a straitjacket. She was half-reclined on the corner of the room, head tilted to the left side, the right side of her neck straining, and realised the world was roating and even if she managed to stand up, she wouldn't be able to keep on her feet.

By now the drunkeness had left her completely, but for some reason she couldn't feel any of those fucking emotions. It felt so good. Not drunk, and not feeling. She wondered for a while if being dead would be equal, or better, than that. For another moment, she wondered if she could manage to get this medication home prescribed so she never sees people's emotions again.

Rolling her eyes on the walls, paying attention to the slit on the padded door of the room, she noticed the light coming in flickers as someone (probably the orderly 'en garde') roamed the hall, passing before what would have been dozens of similar rooms.., no, cells. Padded cells.

She groaned, wondering she wasn't insane and that being here was unfair. Then she mused Brian could have sent her to prision, convicted of attempted murder, instead of isolating her for a while in the asylum. So kind.

She recorded being too drunk to protest Dr. Chandra's examinations, thanks to Walter, who generously supplied her with first one bottle, than another of wine, through the night.

Of course, the fact that no one forced her into drinking didn't even cross her mind. Sharon had the tendency of blaming others for her problems.

Her whole body tensed as her arms attempted to move under the straitjacket,and she knew she was way past her drinking time. She also knew there wouldn't be a nice butler with fine liquor ready for her once she finished removing her arms from this stupid long sleeved unfashionable shirt.

Wriggling, she concluded leaving it would be an impossible feat, and just plain screamed.

\------

Outside the corridor, the wandering orderly stopped, stepping slowly before the padded cell belonging to Sharon X. He approached the slit, opening it.

\-----

"Finally, the Help! Now be a dear and please open this door and aid me with this, I have to make way home, I'm certainly not insane and don't..."

The orderly sighed. Usually the inpatients screamed they weren't crazy and that they would set the place on fire, they would make a spell to disappear with his head, they would tell God to smite him, truly, he had heard a bit of everything. Now, a polite mannered lady, just plain saying she was leaving, that had been a first.

"Sorry, madam, but your file says you are here for attacking your husband and hurting him with only your hands while impossibly drunk, and that you are borderline alcoholic, so I'm afraid it's a no."

Sharon pursed her lips, wondering that screaming and telling the orderly to fuck himself wasn't going to help her case. Of course he had not been filed with the part that says Brian was fucking his new mistress, and if Sharon's fleeting sight wasn't wrong, it was a nice white ass propped up and a head full of dark hair underneath her husband.

Bitch, she thought up, then remembered the innumerable amount of times Brian asked for this one little thing she never gave him, and wondered that being a hypocrite and NOT doing it earlier (which wouldn't even be a strain, since she used to have it with her ex-boyfriend just for the sake of avoiding bastard children) might have even prevented Brian of ultimately getting a mistress.

She mused longly that the bastard knew how to fuck, and she missed it.

And a brunette one at that, she smiled bitterly, shaking her head. What happened to that axyom saying they prefer the blondes???

"Madam...?"

Sharon stopped thinking, only to notice she had been speaking all her thoughts out loud. All of them. The orderly was shaking his head, looking through the slit, then commented he would have to call the doctor.

 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Westchester, Xavier Manor, New York City, 27th February 1938, Sunday afternoon.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian lied when he said he would never worry again about Kurt being ill. Afterall, the night was gone, and to someone who usually slept off ilmesses, the man was still unwell, which was worrysome in itself.

Obviously Kurt insisted he was fine. He even tried to prove he was well by opening the gym room and deciding to lift weights, just to give up on the middle of the third series of ten repetitions each. 

Of course, to anyone watching, to any untrained man, it was still a feat, six weights of 25lb each: Brian however knew better: the last time Kurt did this, he hadn't even broken sweat at the full sequence of five.

"I'm getting old, that's it. When I hit 40 I'll be a piece of scrap collecting dust."

"Nonsense. You just exhausted yourself jumping on the windowsills yesterday, that's all."

Kurt sighed. He hadn't exhausted climbing the walls, that had been the easy part of the night. He had been exhausted by the memory of Sharon, ingraved in the back of his retinas and at the bottom of his inner ears, calling him repeatedly..

"Don't, Kurt. Don't dwell in that, just don't. You know you aren't."

'Captain obvious', he sighed, giving the key of the gym in Brian's hands, briefly mentioning he would take a nap, just to be tackled down by Cain on the ground.

"Father, this place is so cool, come lift these with me!!!"

Kurt groaned he didn't want to lift his own weight if he could, and that kilometres of atmosphere hovered above them weighting millions of tons, crushing them under unfathomable pressure of who knows how many PSI's, and that this fact alone was enough to make him tired. 

Brian smiled, shaking his head and thinking at him very loudly 'Drama queen!'. Kurt actually winced as if Brian had spoken out loud. The blue eyed man then told Cain to get up and free his father of his weight.

Cain did, running to the smaller hand weights and just plain getting them in hands. When he had a 25lb handweight, he just beamed smiling to the two adults on the room, as Brian nearly clapped hands and Kurt rolled his eyes, clearly not amused.

"See? Good with his body, I told you, my friend."

The taller man growled, he rather prefered good with his brain. Cain quickly abandoned the weight, going to the punching bag, hitting it with his closed fists.

Brian inclined slightly towards Kurt, whispering 'I bet you had been like this one day', and remembered him he was very good with his body indeed. 

Kurt choked on his own tongue, coughing and leaving the room. If it depended on him, Brian would NOT be crass with himself, before the children. No way!

Adjusting his shirt, he decided to just take a nap. He was deadly tired, full of intestinal cramps, resolute in not taking medication, hungry and nauseous, which immediately defeated the hunger (because who eats nauseous anyway?), and needed desperately to hit the bed and collapse down into slumber.

\---

At the nursery, Charles was rocking back and forth in his wooden horse, under the lazy eye of Fiona, who was doing some knitting. 

There was someone missing at home.

He recounted his memories: he knew precisely the moment Walter ordered Fiona to bring them breakfast (and was glad that wishing it up very loudly in his mind to the house cook paid itself off, for it turned out to be his favourite, brownies!). 

He also knew the moment his daddy left one of the guest rooms in the first floor to hit the library then emerge upstairs in his own bedroom, took a shower, changed clothes, then mused that this time Mother had gone too far (Charles asked himself how far she went, and if he would be able to visit her there sometime) and she would be taken to a nice place with nice guys in nice white coats.

Charles rocked back and forth still, recalling the moment Walter took two trays of breakfast to the guest bedroom where daddy had spent the night, and that later his dad returned there and there he remained until the moment he heard many strange minds coming by the gates.

These minds barged into the house, guided by daddy and Walter, going by mother's room, and taking her away. Her mind was nearly turned off, as it usually were most of the time since she started being unhappy and crying a lot, and she didn't cry or say goodbye.

Only after that, he realised uncle Kurt had been, back then, watching the strange minds take mother away, from the windows on daddy's studio, full of hatred and anger in his soul.

Now, Charles pondered, uncle was soundly asleep, mind turned off, dreaming and actively sending mental images the young telepath was able to discern...

Even though the boy couldn't understand the dream or explain it, in his dream, uncle was within a nuclear-holocaust-like scenario, running away through barren deserted land with the onset of an explosion or seemingly nuclear winter falling down, actually holding what looked like a human body close to his body into a bridal fashion, a heavy wet woolen brown blanket shielding his back, as in the distance balls of fire erupt from the soil, blinding the sky in white light....

\---

Kurt awoke in a startle, cold sweat filling his forehead and the base of his skull, heart racing. He was very afraid of nuclear holocaust, being an atomic scientist himself and very aware of the effects of radiation into the human body. Under controlled exposure it could bring cellular modifications that might or might not prove benefitial; within a bomb, it just plain killed everything on its wake.

He mused if after the underground lab, Brian might concede him this wish and perhaps they could plan an adjoined nuclear shelter together.

\---

Meanwhile, at the gym room, Brian held the leather punching bag, encouraging Cain to hit it. He was amazed at how much raw strenght the lad pursued, and couldn't help smiling as the boy worked himself up, first with his hands, then kicking it, without giving indication he would need a break.

For the first time in a long time Cain felt truly happy: he now lived in a cool house and also had a cool uncle who actually liked that he was into physical activity, instead of spitting all the time he should become an 'academic' (he did his best Kurt impression in his mind).

Smiling with wrinkles in his nose, the seven years old boy gritted his teeth and punched the leather bag a couple more times, until Brian, laughing out loud, couldn't keep up anymore and asked for time to rest, laying on the flat bench press for a while.

Not feeling tired nor strained, Cain sat on an exercise mat on the ground, nearly vibrating with surplus energy. From his position on the flat bench, Brian smiled, ruffling the boy's hair, telling that they could come here every time he was home, for them to have fun, but at the rest of the time the gym would keep locked.

Cain nodded, wondering that unlike he had imagined, not all scientists were boring. Even though Brian sometimes holed up reading papers the whole night or day, and usually his father was more than happy to follow up, unlike Kurt, Brian was light and funny and everything he could possibly want in a dad.

Perhaps Charles wasn't wrong. They could indeed share their fathers. Let father teach Charles boring things like chess, calculus, advanced nuclear physics, whatever. He sure didn't mind borrowing uncle Brian in exchange, afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt's nervous breakdown and symptoms continue. Brian tries and succeeds in bonding with Cain.


	46. Go fuck yourselves!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian becomes officially aware of his mind powers.

Alamogordo Facilities, Main Laboratory, 08th March, Tuesday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt pinched his nosebridge, pausing the microscope routine, pondering about his onsetting headache. He asked himself if age was already catching on at 38 and he would need reading spectacles any sooner, and if he would look ridiculous in them.

"Of course not, dear, even if you needed. You were however blessed with 20/20 eyesight, unlike me, so no spectacles for you, I'm afraid." Brian mused, without taking his eyes off the zweiss microscope. Kurt shook his head. Before he spoke, Brian continued, without removing his eyes off the lenses " Yes, thank you for believing I look dashing in glasses, but I firmly believe I do not, I look dull and nerdy. Myopia and astigmatism are a curse, specially together."

Kurt pondered to himself that Brian shouldn't complain and that nerdy was very good, then removed the glass petri dish, placing it aside, replacing it with a new one, and finally tried focusing on the microscope again, to no avail, getting blurry vision again. The taller man finally quit trying, pondering he was feeling slightly hungry and that it had been the third time in a week his eyesight faltered. Brian paused working too, standing up and going to the other's microscope, taking a quick inspection at the lenses, then putting his glasses on, checking again.

"See, they are set for perfect eyesight, no correction applied, unlike mine. You don't have anything wrong in your eyes, except perhaps believing I may even remotely be dashing. Concerning your hunger, I told you to eat better in the mornings, instead of fasting, which is not healthy at all."

Kurt groaned. He just wasn't feeling hungry early on, and as such wouldn't eat, no big deal. He mused it might have more to do with being currently unable to dissociate milk and biscuits from sex (all Brian's fault!), and thus deciding upon not eating them to avoid being unable to go to work for obvious reasons. Brian chuckled.

"I knew you would eventually blame it on me, my friend." He patted Kurt on the shoulders, still not noticing Kurt haddn't opened his mouth to speak. "Come here, the microscopes won't run away. I'm afraid we can't smuggle food in but we may go to the cafeteria."

Kurt sighed, yawning and creaking his back as he stood up, removing his labcoat and folding it neatly over the table. He was dead tired. Again, it was probably Brian to blame. Brian merely snorted, shook his head, hung his own labcoat at the bench, and walked out of the room.

They walked the corridor in companiable silence, as the taller man pondered about going home and sleeping, or taking a nap before lunch, and the security cameras followed them all through the way. Brian broke the silence and whispered a "Lazy." Kurt yawned.

Three stories up, Kurt motioned to the tables, sitting and resting his head on both hands. Brian took sight of him for one full second, then went to the coffee machine, pouring two servings with milk and sugar. Once he turned to take them to the table, he found his colleague face dug down his forearms, both folded together, starting to drift away into slumber.

"Kurt, wake up."

The other man groaned, mumbling he wasn't sleeping, then after five seconds of silence, started snoring. Brian looked around to make sure no one was looking, placed the coffee on the table, then approached his ears, whispering.

"Fine then, I'm going on strike until you start eating and sleeping right and being yourself again."

The taller man kept snoring. Brian sighed, placed the key to his personal quarters in his hands, then told him to have the sugared beverage for the sake of his braincells, before taking a through nap. Begrudingly, Kurt lifted his head, downed the cup in almost one gulp, licked his lips, then yawned and just left. Brian was left alone with his cup and his thoughts.

He wondered where his friend's energy had been going: he couldn't recall them doing anything that exausting together, and to be honest, he couldn't recall doing 'anything' for at least five days at all. Kurt had been dozing out on his own very frequently, as soon as he hits the sheets, often after dining only half a regular plate. He claims not being hungry, which in itself is worrysome: Kurt often ate at least double what Brian did, under normal conditions.

Still thinking, he walked back to the lab, and finished his own set of petri dishes, then moved on to finish Kurt's, for he had a feeling he wouldn't finish them. Brian had no idea on what might have made him sick: there was no clear reason for all this. They were even eating the same foods, and Brian himself was fine, so food poisoning was out of the list.

Once he was done and it was lunch time for real, Brian moved on to his personal quarters, knocked on the door, received no answer and tried for the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

Peeking in, he found Kurt sprawled on his belly, head first into the pillow of the single bed, snoring softly, most probably having fallen asleep as soon as he reached the mattress.

Combing his hair with his fingers, he looked around the room, wondering it would be too much of a privacy breach, even for Irene's standarts, for the facilities to keep hidden cameras online, into a private quarter. He pushed the taller man a bit towards the wall, making room to sit on the single bed besides him, bending slightly over his back.

"Lunch time.", he whispered, placing a hand on his back. Kurt yawned, blinking. "You must be tired of the food here. Let's go out for a change. Maybe it will open your appetite. We have to try. Something must open it at least..."

Kurt sat up, rubbing his eyes, nodding, then standing up and heading to the quarter's urinal.

\---

Three stories up, Irene jerked her head towards a red beeping light. A moving needle traced waves on a running sheet of thermal paper, outlining a graph. The whirring noise filled the room briefly, finishing with the noise of the sheet of paper being ripped out of the adapted ECG machine. 

Irene skimmed the waves and spikes, smiling. Now that was a good, steady, solid reading. It certainly would be part of their X-Files. Storing it on Kurt's folder, she served herself a shot of steaming Earl Grey, drinking slowly, closing both eyes and drifiting her mind to the parking lot.

\---

Even though it was Kurt's car, they never really discussed who would be driving: their fit was natural, for Kurt was more than happy to be driven. Even the sentinels didn't care anymore, not even batting an eyelash at Brian on the driver seat, exhaling authority and nerdy poise, as Kurt proudly beams at the passenger seat. 

This time however Brian fumed behind the steering wheel, and Kurt had his head gracelessly hanging backwards, nearly dozing off the moment the gates closed for them.

"Oh for God's sake..." Brian complained, as the helmeted sentinel came close, and the other held the gate locked.

He sighed, noticing the shift of the guard: these weren't the usual assholes that he told to never bother them again.

"May we be of help, gentlemen?"

Sarcasm rolled in thick greenish waves from himself, as Brian gave his best snicker, adjusting his glasses with his right hand. The new sentinels asked, predictably, for their ID's, and he handed his. The sentinel cleared his throat, waiting for Kurt. Brian glared between them, to find his friend's head bent back, open mouthed, snoring softly, spit falling down one corner, drying. Not really a respect-inspiring view.

"Kurt, the nice sentinel wants your ID."

No reaction. The sentinel stared between them. Brian grumbled something on really going on strike, and out of impatience, just raised a finger to the sentinel, saying an 'excuse us' and turning to Kurt, inhaling deeply and screaming.

"Dr. Marko, your ID for the nice guy!!!"

Kurt awoke in a startle, hitting his head at the glass window of the car. Groaning it would bruise, he dived his hand on his coat's pocket, retrieving the ID and handing it to the sentinel out of the window, across Brian's seat, momentarily resting his left hand at the other's right thigh.

The sentinel stared briefly at the ID's, nodding, almost handing them back, when he stopped very mute, glaring at the scene before his eyes: Brian had a neutral glare, staring strait ahead, expectantly, as Kurt had his hand still resting atop Brian's right thigh.

The sentinel kept staring at them for ten full seconds. He called the other guard, who came by asking "what was going on?", glared for a while at the scene, then proceeded to take his radio and said to Brian he was very sorry, but he would need to call the authorities for some clarifications concerning their 'situation', and pointed at their point of contact. 

Brian frowned, not understanding at first, then looked down, finding Kurt's hand in his thigh, and Kurt himself silently dozing, and cursed.

"DAMN YOU BUGGERERS, JUST _GO FUCK YOURSELVES_!!!!" Brian snapped, at the same time pushing Kurt and his hand back with full force at the passenger seat. The taller man awoke in a startle once more, but this time he stared ahead and couldn't sleep again, blinking twice, shocked.

As Brian complained to Kurt that his behaviour would end putting them in danger and as such he would just take him home and call in sick and return himself to work, Kurt, very serious, wide eyed, poked him lightly on the right forearm.

"Brian, I.."

"No, Kurt, it's unexcusable, you are acting irresponsibly and until you sleep this shit off, I don't want to be seen around you in public!!!"

"But Brian.."

"I may be nice and everything but you will not do it to us, I can't believe you, usually the most collected of us both, are slipping out in public like this and.."

"BRIAN, WILL YOU LOOK AT THEM!"

Brian shut up, turning his face left and staring ahead. He then darted between Kurt's flushed face, and the two sentinels outside the car. He stared fully at the sentinels, gawking then gulping. Brian was the first to speak.

"Well, that is.. interesting."

"It is, isn't it?"

"Very."

Kurt uncomfortably winced.

"It seems rather unsafe to do that to a gun."

"Uhum."

"I mean, it can shoot, Brian."

"Other things can shoot too, dear."

"Yes, but when other things... shoot. They can't blow up brains out. Nor kill. As far as I know."

"They can, they can. Mindblowing sometimes. Besides, there is always 'la petit mort' afterwards, 'n'est pas'?"

Kurt coughed, flushing furiously. Brian's crass mind knows no limits, specially in french. He stared back at the sentinels, clearing his throat and asking.

"Does it count as 'homosexual behaviour' being witness to that and not calling the cops?"

"Only if you are being witness, not calling the cops, AND enjoying it. Bodily. So far, homosexualism is not a crime by omission, otherwise every heterosexual of the country should have been convicted by now. My lawyers though could bend our current situation to 'utter shock preventing us from reacting properly and calling the authorities to report', so we are good staying here. Besides, we weren't given permission yet to leave."

"Oh, good to know we are criminals only at home, and not right now in this car."

They stared more. Brian cleared his throat.

"So, learning anything new?

"Sure. I learned that you can be... very convicing. Please don't ever tell me to jump out of a cliff."

"Well, I'm surprised too. I was just wondering if I should try ordering the other sentinels around, the asshole ones, just to see what happens. Who knows, it might be fun. What about that little blond obnoxious, the one with the tiny moustache and the weasel eyes, imagine him tying his own hands with the handcuffs at that pole over there while his shift pal approaches from behi..."

"Brian!"

Both tilted their heads right, witnessing the two guards go at it.

"My, that's a lot of.. a lot. "

"Indeed. You know, there are not legal cinemas showing these things, but I believe if we search around discreetly enough we might find at least one in New York. However, currently, I'd hit any drive in, dear."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, just imagine you and I inside this very comfy car, at the back of the shadied drive in, our windows closed, us on the back seat, the steam collecting in the glass from our breaths, sweat pooling at the small of your back, my tongue tracing your back down, then rim..."

"BRIAN!"

"Ahem, at least we found something that can keep you awake. You were dozing off like a lazy cat the whole time before this."

"I'm _your_ lazy cat." He purred. "And as you said, I'm in 'shock'. It's impossible to even remotely nap looking at... looking."

Brian loosened his collared shirt a bit, staring ahead and agreeing, flushed hot.

"Ok, tell me again, how did this shoot, ahh shaft, no, I mean shit, shit, begin? And most importantly, why isn't anyone filming it, and how do we hope to replay it later??"

Kurt rolled his eyes, wondering there should exist a home cinema contraption or device meant for moments like these. He cleared his throat.

"Seemingly it all started after you screamed at them to GO FUC..."

".....but I didn't mean it literally!!!!"

"Apparently for some people all that lacks is a bit of incentive."

Kurt lowered his gaze, coughing and blushing as he finished the sentence. The two guards shamelessly acted lewdly and explicitedly, having by now become almost totally naked. One of them retained his open undershirt, no pants, his gunbelt, the gun, and the helmet, and for some disturbing reason it looked like a great look indeed in him.

"You know, Kurt, I have a feeling they will not turn us in to the authorities anymore. Ever."

"Pity you didn't bring an instant camera. We could use some pictures, you know."

Brian widened his eyes at Kurt's idea. The guards kept making out, moaning and panting, ignoring their audience of two, in the middle of the road to outside the facilities. Kurt cleared his throat.

"For references? Blackmailing material? Just so they never corner us again?"

Brian raised one eyebrow, snickering. Someone was enjoying it too much. Brian cleared his voice, moving his face outside the window of the car, moving his left hand in the air, in a clear Jedi Knight impression, talking to the sentinels.

"Yes, you who are flashing your ass up, be a dear and hand us the ID's back. Now there's a good chap... Now please, continue your show and nevermind us, gentlemen. We have seen more than enough and we are leaving. Don't forget to keep the guns down and other things up. Enjoy."

The least undressed man saluted, nodding, then opened the gates, returning to his previous position, attacking the other one's tonsils with his tongue. Brian couldn't help honking twice at them, as Kurt alternated between ashamed amusement and lewd debauchery, shaking his head and snickering as Brian rolled away from the facilities, both intent in hitting home and not returning at all, today.

\---

Irene, cackling madly on her own office, decided she indeed had way too much fun with her boys, and they deserved the rest of the day out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sentinels regret (or not) that he did.


	47. Scientific Method.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian muses about yesterday's events and forms a hypothesis that needs to be tested.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Xavier-Marko Household, New Mexico, 09th March 1938, Wednesday, early morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Despite the most amazing display of the previous day, and the joyous night it helped providing, Brian was annoyed. He had an itch he couldn't scratch, and he needed to clear his doubts.

"So you are saying you concluded you can actually, REALLY, order people to do your bidding."

He munched some toast with jam, despite his lack of appetite. Brian nodded.

"Not all the time, but like yesterday, well. I don't believe they were going to do anything in PUBLIC if they could have avoided following the order."

Kurt agreeded. The thing with the gun scarred him for life.

"So you might have ordered me at some point, like, to fall for you?? Or eat this toast, perhaps?"

Brian appaled at the possibility. 

"You did insist in making me eat the toast, Brian."

Brian sighed, then shook his head.

"I want to believe I didn't FORCE your mind, my friend, not about such a serious thing. The toast, who knows, I might concede you that, but not the other part. Let's just say us being together would have happened AGES AGO, even before we had been contracted to this project, back in Oxford, if it had depended solely on my wish."

He lowered his gaze, smiling and blushing, as Kurt beamed.

"...however, I do believe that the last time you had a fever, I had you mind controled: you looked like an automaton, just following orders. I had even to order you to breath. It was creepy."

Kurt sighed, then added that as long as Brian didn't order him to kill himself, he was fine, because he couldn't think of a fairer man to trust with his life. 

Brian gave a full smile, then finished in a nervous chuckle, adding that it was one of the reasons they needed to confirm it soon, because if the blue eyed man indeed had these powers of sort, they were better off if he knew how to avoid using it for bad purposes.

"So, how are we going to find out? Any ideas, for a start?"

Brian pondered on the sentinels of the previous day, then smiled.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, New Mexico, 09th March 1938, Wednesday, later.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Both were almost giddy at the prospect of a new experiment. If Brian had any odd and unexplainable "powers of mind" and the likes, they had to confirm. Later they could try to explain it, but confirming the existence would be enough for now.

From afar, Kurt's perfect eyesight recognised the sentinels.

"Look, the two usual assholes. Pity. I was almost hoping it would be yesterday's ones. I would like to see them ashamed."

Brian snickered. Excellent - he took special hate on these two guards. He stopped the Ford before the gates, waiting for the sentinels to arrive.

"Good morning, Dr. Xavier, Dr. Marko."

Brian beamed placing his left elbow outside of the window, raising very slightly his left hand.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Awful weather, isn't it? It's raining so heavily, a true thunderstorm complete with an electric storm, and you two don't even have your umbrellas." 

The day was cold but sunny, no clouds in the sky. The sentinels shared a glance, looking back at Brian, who squinted, then moved his left hand in the air, from rigth to left, in a slow semicircle, as both followed with their eyes.

"Why don't you cover up and leave back to that little house up there, screaming like two 12 years old girls, to escape the thunderstorm?"

Both sentinels blinked glassy, then eyed themselves for a second, screeching that it was raining cats and dogs and holing up together at the little sentinel gatehouse. Brian and Kurt eyed themselves. That was going to become a fun day indeed.

 

\---

 

Like two reckless teens, they moved through the day making little tests: from convincing other researchers of the complex that they had already eaten, just for them to leave their plates untouched, for them to keep their portion of cheesecake during breakfast, to telling the cleaning lady the trash bins were full when they were not, and seeing her 'empty' said bins once again, to making sure they would get double servings of meat during lunch time, much to Kurt's happiness, and finally, once they felt bold and confident on Brian's mind strenght, finding a spot blind to any security cameras and finally for the first time kissing longly and slowly all the while Brian made sure everyone passing by simply was unable to remember seeing them.

As such, once they had fooled about to ten co-workers with Brian's hand gesture for them for FORGET seeing them making out on the corridor, giggling like idiots, they concluded it wasn't mere coincidence afterall (no one would just FORGET that, if they could avoid following the command. The world is full of pervs.). 

After Brian tried giving orders with and without hand movements, they concluded that they were more easily followed by the use of said gestures, most probably because they distracted people's thougts, lowering their defenses.

Now, collectedly sitting on the main table of their laboratory, papers open besides them, at tea time, they talked and mused on their day.

"Well, well, Brian, looks like you have a very interesting gift." He smiled, tapping his hands on the teacup. "I wished I had one."

"Who knows, maybe you do. We only have to find out. Maybe being efortlessly strong and agile is a gift in itself." He winked. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"What a boring gift. Oh, look at me, I jump from windowsills, run distances, stretch without straining and lift weights. Good for a jock or an athlete, not a scientist like me."

"Makes you a true hunk, dear, keeping totally fit without a single drop of effort, you lazy minx. Millions would kill for this gift. I rather enjoy the agility part, myself."

Kurt sighed, taking one sip of tea.

"You are the only one to have ever enjoyed it. Well, it's all good and well, but now we agree you DO have a gift, how do you explain it happened?"

"I believe the reason is in this very complex. We had been, afterall, for the latest 16 years, working on induction of genetic alterations into female subjects kept under cryogenic stasis, hoping to impregnate them with x-genes positive foetuses. Probably we have suffered some degree of genetic tampering ourselves."

Kurt nodded. That was the reason why Brian had always been the leader of their team of two. Raw intellect and logical reasoning. So much better than making sommersaults.

"Or maybe..."

Kurt stood to attention. Brian continued.

"Maybe we had always had those said x-genes in some degree. Perhaps it was the reason WHY we were picked for this project. And maybe then we were tampered with to enhance them. Who knows."

Kurt held his cup, pondering, fleetingly looking at the security camera. They were dwelling into dangerous subject. Being chosen FOR their genes was a perillous affirmation, for it meant that Irene KNEW they had said genetics beforehand, and in this case, HOW did she know, since they had never ever experimented with any sort of personal samples or ever been experimented at, BEFORE being contracted into the Black Womb Project?

"Good point, my friend, very good point. And you say you aren't the intelligent one."

Kurt choked on his tea. Usually he would dismiss Brian answering to his thoughts as him being the proverbial 'captain obvious', but now they had stablished his beloved friend had a mind gift, he had to call it out.

"Brian, I believe I have one piece of thought for you. You might not be aware, but you had just spoken to what I was thinking. I did NOT speak out loud."

Brian stalled. After ten full seconds, he spoke.

"Since when?"

"For ages now. Maybe you have always done it, here and there. And here I was thinking I was 'easy'!"

"Well, you have become quite easy indeed."

Kurt facepalmed. He didn't mean 'that' easy! He meant an easy 'mind read'.

Brian captured this thought, pondered, then nodded, adding.

"And here I thought you were always crystal to me, and that I was lucky for having you as friend. Well, all right.... Looks like we will have to do some experiments on this one too, my friend."

Kurt nodded, then snickered, immediatelly thinking in colourful details about the previous night. Brian choked on his own tea, flushing crimson red. Kurt nodded to himself.

"Looks like it is so, then. You received my mental image, and I managed to embarass the ever crass Brian, a rare feat. Congratulations for us both."

The tall scientist raised his cup of tea for an imaginary toast. Brian gave him a side glance, then spat that he was a shameless bastard and would be punished later. Kurt merely thought out he would be 'eagerly expecting his punishment, indeed'. The blue eyed man then snickered, musing this mind reading thing wasn't bad afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though they can't put a name on it, Brian's gift is finally fully recognised, and now the real fun would begin.


	48. The rest, they say, is Destiny.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Queen goes on a self imposed mission, and Erik is located.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Black Forest, Germany, 11h March 1938, Friday night.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Greenish eerie eyes shone through the bushes at the periphery of the forest's wilderness: hiding in the shadows of the night, the beast moved quickly, howling to the full moon in the cold winter night.

A most important development needed to take place. She has to locate and identify a boy. A small 8 year old special boy.

She could no longer speak but it didn't make her stupid. She saw how happy Herr Doktorr was at the almost ceremonial awakening of the pale blond haired girl. Her icy blue eyes were a stark contrast to her own hazel warm ones. The only thing they matched was the paleness of their skin. 

She feared that in a few years she would replace her.

Herr Klaus called her Emma Frost, telling how she had been rescued from her previous captors, filed her with details from her supposed past, about how her family sold her away when they found out she had a special gift, and about how he was her rescuer and life saviour, and about how she would be well taken care of.

She sighed, sadly recalling he never gave her a real name, usually calling her Pet, and refering himself to 'the jaguar', 'the beast', 'my mistress', 'my dirty little slut', 'my Dark Queen', depending on to whom he spoke and in which circumnstances. She couldn't recall having a previous name nor a previous life. Maybe she had been fated all along to be nothing but an animalistic beast, afterall.

Remembering last night, she thought about the poor girl who cried at being rejected from her family and turned a clean slate just to forget them, being filled slowly by Klaus' ancient and rich mind. All the time it had been taking place, the Dark Queen remained silently listening to everything, stretched on the sofa, in jaguar shape, licking her glossy black fur clean.

She mused she rather prefered being in animal shape, since she couldn't talk anyway. With time and patience, Herr Klaus thaught her to change into practically any reasonable sized black beast, from black felines to large dogs to horses and horned oxen and all assortments of cattle, even large birds of prey. She was particularly fond of the jaguar. Elegant, silent, deadly, supposed to be by itself most of the time.

Tonight however local geography made her have to take upon a new shape, and she was proud to shift without Herr Klaus' orientation. Gnawing on her hindlegs with her black muzzle, she howled to the moon again, circling the outskirts of this polish village, approaching a tinkerer's shop.

She knew she HAD to keep her usefulness. She knew the blonde had a different non physical gift of mind, for she felt her own thoughts invaded by the fleeting image of the steel eyed 8 year old boy, toying with the metal scrap from his father's works. 

That was the moment she knew she had to locate to him before Herr Doktorr decided he would go himself after said boy. 

Klaus was too impatient to wait for Irene's suggestion that in a few years this boy would naturally fleet to the Poland gates, bending them, and he would need do nothing special at all. The now black wolf knew however that her master often decided to NOT follow advice, and she knew very well one advice he didn't follow was precisely making his pet a decoration in his living room.

She was glad of his rebelliousness: she would be dead piece of art now if he did.

Sniffing around, she approached the garage where the boy was, under lamp light, focused on crafting a metal object.

Instead of soldering iron, steam, moulding instruments, anvil and furnace heat, he had nothing but the metal, his hands, and his closed eyes.

As the fine intrincate lines ingrained themselves on the metal piece, making fleeting abstract patterns, the shapeless metal slowly acquired the form of a chess piece, a king, finished with the touch not of a cross, but of a David Star.

Proud of his handiwork, he stood up, calling for his father. The bearded man, smoking a pipe, came by and took the piece in hands, admiring it. He told the boy (Erik, Erik was his name) that he was very proud of him, but he would have to NEVER use his gift outside the garage, for fear of others finding out and killing him or taking him away from them.

The boy nodded, making a "shhh" motion with his index finger then smiling a sharkish grin. This would always be their secret. He could only use his gift when he was relaxed and fully happy. And he couldn't be happier than now, with his parents, knowing they loved him being different and talented, and encouraging him.

She beamed. THAT was indeed the boy. Erik, Erik dear.

Behind the windows the black wolf shifted shapes towards a large black vulture, taking note of her geomagnetic location, flying up and high, intent on returning to her master to give him the coordinates and the very good news indeed.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, Irene's personal quarters, 11th March 1938, Monday night.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Irene beamed. Erik boy was finally located.

She knew herr Klaus would not be able to wait for the bent gates. She knew her dark haired beauty, her late Marjorie, would be crucial in locating him beforehand, but only after the awakening of subject 06 under her new alias of Emma Frost.

That was the reason why she had Brian and Kurt create subject 06, 16 years ago, even before Erik were born. Emma had to exist for Erik to be found. And she wouldn't exist if she hadn't arranged for Kurt to get his Oxford Nuclear Physics Scholarship in first place, in his late teens.

Yes, Irene made all the pieces move more than 30 years ago, when she found out about Kurt's existence. She knew she had to have him and Brian meet.

If he had followed his natural life course, he would end up a manual labour handyman, maybe even belonging to the navy seals on his luckiest fate. Even though not stupid, he had his intelligence honed by Oxford, not before it. He was a natural at physical (not physics!) prowess and would have been the number one of whichever fleet he got into.

She also had to meedle with Brian's inclinations. Even though he would go to Oxford anyway, he was to become an MD, medical GP, not a genetics PhD scientist, if she hadn't intervened. Contacting the right deans payed well in the end, for the moment the Medicine Scholarship came by to Brian, he had already left, beaming like a beacon, to become the genetics specialist he ought to be.

They both no idea on how deeply Irene's tampering came through to make her two scientists meet. No idea at all. Let's just say she had matchmaked them since before they entered school.

She never regreted having had to make sure Kurt's sister wouldn't survive her poliomielitis. Were she alive, he wouldn't have grown the sensitive boy he were, moving up to the attic and developing not a healthy attraction for girls, but a love and devotion for being with them, and the envy for not being them, and the hatred for having to be always responsible and the 'chief' of his troop of brothers, wishing to prove himself smarter and better than them.

She also never regreted having Brian's mother die of suicide by jumping from the third story of the Xavier Manor, after Irene made sure the poor mother knew first hand of her only underage son's proclivities with the church's altar boys. She also never regret making sure the right altar boys with the right inclinations would be present during Brian's dominical school, for his natural inclination to flourish. After that, back then, mother's absence made Brian's father bitter and the hellish life he was having under his strict father urged Brian himself to pursue University to escape home.

Thus their backgrounds were set for them to go after higher learning and eventually meeting.

The rest, as Irene says, is Destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene proves once again her tampering went deep and low.


	49. Anschluss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hitler annexed Austria under his hand and Herr Doktorr's guide, expanding into Greater Germany.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Greater Germany, Gau Otsmark, 14th March, Monday night.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Nazi Party was holding a commemoration at the Hellfire Club, soon after Italy had joined Germany in the Anti-Comintern Pact.

Herr Fuhrer had been allerted by the young abused Aryan beauty, little Emma Frost (rescued and adopted by the nazy hero Doktorr Klaus Schmidt alongside his mute lady), that it was time to begin the Anschluss, by the peaceful annexation of Austria.

Without a single drop of blood, at 12 March, the nazi turned Austria it into the province of Gau Otsmark, for the first time returning some pride to the aryan people, who now could call their nation Greater Germany, a nation to be proud of, and to fight for.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Salem, Asylum, Sharon's room, 15 March 1938, tuesday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

She was allowed leave from the padded cell once she stopped being stupid and insulting every orderly around. They were not by her side. As such she would have to play nice.

Now dressed in normal inpatient clothes, taking daily an amazing blue pill that for some reason, at least for a small slice of the day, rendered her mind empty of second hand emotions, she almost felt like she would actually stand going back to living at the Manor.

Unfortunately for her, she recognised now, it was too late. Brian would never want her back there. The asylum was her new prison, without the alcohol to make her numb, with the blue pills that bring some degree of normalcy, but without her clothes and jewels and socialite friends.

Recalling it was also a life without her son never really crossed her mind.

Sighing at the absence of wine, and afraid to mention she actually wanted an extra pill per day (they would ask her WHY, and what would she say?), she had to 'woman' up the vanishing effects of the medication by standing to feel all people as emotional bubbles swirlling geographically around her during the worst hours of night, and kept her time listening to the night sounds and connecting them to their owners.

So, before sleep, she learned about her fellow inpatients.

There was Elianne, post-partum depression irradiating regretful waves of yellowish-purple sorrow, killed her baby boy and believed the folded blanket was the late child.

There was the poor retarded nameless girl who had been commitioned by the State upon birth, after she had been abandoned by their parents. She radiated nothing, but her mind was a full mess of baseline feelings countered by fleeting pain, happiness, sadness, hunger, cold and thirst, then saciety at meals, physiological elliminations, and the plain absence of pain. A simple being, with simple emotions and not much of a mind.

There was the polio survivor in an Iron Lung, Marlette, beaming happiness at being alive, despite fully immobile from the neck down, dependent on the negative pressure system to breathe. She spoke and waved feelings in 15 pulses per minute, often happy for any nurse company she would receive.

The homicidal manical-depressive Johan, convicted for insanity and murder of her husband and three children by boiling them alive into a firewood-heated bathtube, literally releasing dangerous crimson waves of hatred and violet pulses of mental instability.

Pondering her case was very mild, compared to some of the ones she learned about, Sharon decided to keep in good behaviour and perhaps she would fall on the doctor's good graces and finally be allowed some of the ammenities of life, like liquor. She wouldn't mind doing anything for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon misses her liquor, and muses she would be willing to do anything to get some.


	50. Mindshields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian hones up his abilities and shamelessly acts out.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Grocery Shop, 28th march 1938, early evening.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt pulls the shopping cart moving slowly through the aisles, as outside, inside the Ford, Brian taps idly on the steering wheel. They decided upon trying telepathic shopping for a change.

_Will you be a dear and focus at the left shelves, yes, excellent. Now take that instant nicaraguan coffee, it's a truly amazing brand, tastes velvety and rich with hard roasted undertones._

_Coffee is just coffee, Brian._

_Nonsense, with the way you have been refusing real food and eaten junk, I have to pick the best. Now there's a good boy._

Kurt rolled his eyes, picking the coffee, receiving a warm collection of yellow and white telepathic tendrils surrounding his eyesight. He then received Brian's request at picking more grocery items, going for them.

He rather liked how even from a distance Brian could mentally communicate. It was handy. He could send instant messages asking about toilet paper if it was over, he could roll call for bedtime, he could request bread, italian salami, cheese, mayo, pepper sauce, goat jearky, buffalo mozarella, english sauce, onions, garlic, and cocoa milkshake with honey chips before bedtime...

_No way you are ever eating that again before bedtime, man of science who never gets ill, just indisposed: that had been a nuclear mix, clearly unfit for human consumption, not to mention you had a bad stomach for the rest of the night and resumed vomiting the next morning. Pick healthy crackers over there, if you may._

_Yes, mom._ Kurt sighed, passing by a couple of young ladies who stared at him for slightly too long, then started giggling, hiding their glances coily. Brian invaded his mind.

_Now what the bugger is that? Do they want to go home thinking they are five year old ballerinas? Don't they know you are taken and thus you are NOT their personal wet dream?_

_No, Brian, apparently I am a single man wearing an Oxford signet, which means a good catch and wedding material, shopping alone, and they have NO idea I am doing something as extraordinary as speaking through telepathy for the noblest of couses: supermarketing with my criminal life partner and thus I cannot be available for them._

_Bugger it. I should have come with you._

_What would it change? They would still see two men shopping together, like they two seem to be, and would believe they had made their match in heaven. Your wedding band is only visible under the shadow of the signet from a close distance, you know. When they saw it, they would have already invaded your mind with the same thoughts._

Brian rested his head on his right hand, fuming inside the car. Kurt was right. He told the man to finish gathering chocolate bars and whatever else, and called off the telepathic connection, shaking his head and rubbing his own temples, only waiting for him to return.

The moment Kurt got in with the bags, Brian was glaring icily at the two women who had the galls to stalk him to the outside and were swearing they were being stealthy, as if he were some sort of celebrity god (well, he is, but he was _his_ god). He sent them a choking chilly wave of dread, and both stalled, shivering and wincing, until one of them met his eyes through the car's rear mirror. He smiled. The smaller lady prodded the other, and both fled. He smiled wider, then started the car, leaving noiselesly, left elbow outside the window, steering the wheel with only his right hand, full of class, as Kurt mentioned he missed the urinal, he missed sleep, he missed a bath, and just wanted to hit home.

\---

Later in night, Brian closed his eyes, laid on his back, hands crossed behind his neck, looking at the ceiling.

"What if there are others?"

Kurt groaned, hiding under the sheets. He didn't feel like talking. He wanted to sleep. Brian ignored him and kept speaking.

"Other people like me. Able to read and control minds."

Kurt shrugged. He didn't care.

"Oh, you should. What if one evil mind reader tried to mind control you, instead of me?"

That moment Kurt stalled, opening his eyes, cursing Brian for bringing his paranoia up just before bedtime.

"Sorry, but it looked like a relevant topic. I don't like the idea of another one like me ordering you around. What if he or she tells you to kill yourself?"

Sound point, Kurt mused in his mind. He was feeling too lazy to open up his mouth to speak, so he seized the opportunity to just project words. Brian for some reason prefered to monologue, listening to his own voice echoing in the room.

"Well, I am wondering if there is anything I can do to shield your mind from other mind readers, except me, of course."

Of course, Kurt agreeded. The idea of other people reading his mind and finding out his personal secrets and his and Brian's relationship appaled him.

"Precisely, my friend. I will have to ponder on a way to shield ourselves from prying and projecting, but at the same time keeping our connection open. I rather liked grocery shopping from afar."

Kurt snorted. And he was the lazy one.

"I'm not lazy, I'm practical, dear."

He leaned in for a goodnight kiss, then turned on his side, storing the glasses on the nightsand, dozing off to sleep.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, 29th March 1938, Tuesday morning.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Brian, tell the cafeteria lady I don't want anymore pie."

He pinched his nose, moving the three dishes of pie away. Brian feigned feeling offended, bringing one to himself and stuffing pie in.

"I made sure she would bring pie enough for your needs, you should appreciate my effort. You didn't have breakfast at home. Again."

"Which is no excuse to fatten me for Thanksgiving."

"You make a lovely roasted turkey impression when you want, that one with the feet behind the neck and the two knees propped sideways and..."

"Christ, Brian watch your language at work at least!!!"

"Don't need anymore, 've got powers." He munched some more pie "Everyone is forgetting us here, so we can speak freely."

"Sure, Brian. What about electronic recordings? What if they record what you speak?"

"Then I'll just make then forget they HEAR the recordings, and may even ultimately make them forget about the very existence of said records or even ERASE the physical evidence themselves."

Kurt pondered for a second. Whoever said power corrupts had a point. If Brian were truly without scruples, the world would be very sorry indeed. Happily, he seemed more worried about making them 'invisible' so he could be his incorrigible self without witnesses. So much for using his gift badly.

"Love you too, dear."

Kurt rolled his eyes. Soon both were heading to the lab downstairs, Brian smuggling pie and beaming about his wickedness. Once hitting the lab, the bespectacled man locked the door physically behind himself. Kurt raised one eyebrow.

Before he could protest, Brian whispered he would never forget to lock doors anymore, then cornered him at the lab bench, just plainly invading underneath his shirt with his hands, unbuttoning it, snuzzling against the crook of his neck, glasses steamy with his breath. Wide-eyed, Kurt asked mentally if he was insane, receiving the mental response.

_Insane about you, yes. Watch and learn, love._

Brian raised his left hand and wriggled his index finger around its axis, fleetingly looking and squinting and focusing at each of the security cameras of the room, booming at all four the mind command "Delete and Forget.".

\---

Inside the security room, the glassy eyed security guard dutifully turned off the recording of their lab room cameras, and meticulouslly recorded plain white noise before the old recording, erasing the previous taped information.

\---

Brian beamed grinning at Kurt, tapping with his index and middle fingers of the left hand the side of his temple, twice, then winking. Amazed and enthralled, the dark haired man lowered his face, both meeting their foreheads together, as Brian now took his left hand to Kurt's right temple, then mimicried the move with Kurt's hand to his own right temple.

"Brian? What are you doing?"

"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers? Perhaps I have found a way to shield us. Close your eyes, I'm taking us all the way."

\---

Irene, upstairs, commended Brian for his genius, and wasn't surprised to find he was his most powerful when under strong emotions, like hatred, anger or full arousal and intense happiness. This way they would achieve at least two emotions, intensified by the thrill of the 'forbidden', a state of mind unachievable at the security of home. Very clever indeed. She knew her boys wouldn't disappoint her.

She nodded, smiling and setting herself to some private entertainment. This proved to be fun every time.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, 29th March 1938, Tuesday afternoon, hours later.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"So, Mr. 'I've got powers', now you finished your trife, before I think it was a poor excuse to shag me against the lab counter before lunchtime, tell me, how can you be sure we are shielded?"

Brian stood to attention; he had been busy mind controlling the junior lab assistant who came by to deliver some mail, into finishing his microscope routine for himself, while he played with crosswords. Kurt repeated his question.

"Easy, dear." He snapped his fingers and on cue the glassy eyed lab assistant removed the already viewed set of glass plates, taking notes mechanically. "I coded my own DNA's nucleotide sequence from start to end, into the woving of our mental shields. Meaning, only someone actually having 100% of my DNA can pry in, which means not even an offspring of mine could get in. Unless I have an evil doppelganger, an estranged twin, or a non-genetically altered clone, we are completely safe."

He snapped the fingers once more. The poor lab boy took new notes and changed the plate again. Kurt shook his head.

"You are your own evil doppelganger, Brian. Release the boy, and do your own work for a change."

Brian snickered, sending an air kiss to Kurt. 

"Says my lazy cat. I can get the boy to do yours too if you wish. Oh, don't look at me like this. Consider this exercise laboratory practice, the lad needs it. Besides, my eyes hurt. Glasses and microscopes are a bad mix."

Kurt pondered that it only counted as lab practice if the person would remember anything later. Brian rolled his eyes.

"He will get muscle-memory of rolling the adjustment controls, the coarse and the fine focus knobs. Oh, just one more, please, then he is done and will leave back to his lab room, dear. I know you hate sharing me."

Kurt stared at his own plates through the lenses of the microscope, turning the revolving nosepiece once. He loved and envied the bastard: lucky Brian for being able to be his crass self without consequences due to his gift. He then sighed, for he still had his own batch to finish. Someone had to do the hard work, afterall.

"The lad is free now, are you really sure you don't want him to do the hard work?"

Kurt facepalmed, then gave up. 

"Right, just give me these crosswords then, evil doppelganger of hell." 

Brian beamed.

"C'mon, don't tell me you don't love how my gift works. In what depends on me, I can see ourselves aging good and well and going everywhere together and the world will never bother us with questions, we'll never, ever, have to worry about life and consequences like the law or getting arrested. We can finally do as we please and just be free!"

He spinned on his rotating chair, sending Kurt a mental 'weeeeee!'. Kurt smiled under the crossword puzzle, shaking his head: deep down, Brian would be forever a boy.

Life never looked so bright and right. For a fleeting second he asked himself when would God come to take from him what he loved the most, as usual, then waved the idea away. He hoped this time he had done something right and would be happily rewarded for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian finds out about how to shield their minds from outside probing.


	51. A (not so) Good Idea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian worries about stray thoughts in the middle of the night.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Xavier-Marko Household, 01 April 1938, friday, middle of the night.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brian awoke startled, nearly jumping from his previously laying position, to standing up in one single move, eyes wide, looking around like a rabid dog, holding his breath; meanwhile, from his lazily sprawled position over his belly, left knee bent, right knee on a straight angle, asscheeks slightly spread, Kurt merely groaned, as Brian put on his glasses.

"Did you hear that?"

Hear what?

"There is someone not thinking here."

Definitely me, Kurt pondered: he certainly wasn't thinking now.

"Not funny, dear. You are clearly thinking, despite evidences against."

Sighing heavily, Kurt cleared his throat.

"...go to sleep, Brian. Please."

"But there's someone here in the house."

"...Yes, us."

Brian shook his head.

"What if someone tries to break and enter?"

"Then you, mister "I've got powers", will mindfuck whoever it is. Not an issue."

"It happens, DARLING, I cannot mindfuck a... not-mind?"

"Now where this concept came from?"

Brian pondered on the subject.

"Bugger me if I know."

Kurt snickered, and in a swift move propped both feet out of bed, capturing Brian in a scissor motion leglock, then pulling him back into the mattress, flipping both midflight and finishing in a straddling position, lowered his face toward's Brian's, licking his lips slowly all the while mentally replying with a ' _Bugger you? Gladly._ '.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Salem, Asylum, Sharon's room, 01 April 1938, midnight, friday night.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sharon heard a mettalic noise outside the room, moving towards ithe door; Looking through the slit, she found one female orderly with a package, unlocking it.

Once in, she locked the door back. Sharon raised one eyebrow.

"Is it?"

The orderly nodded, handing the package. Sharon nearly cradled it; it was absynth, 70GL, the strongest legally available. The orderly spoke.

"It wasn't easy to smuggle it in."

"I'm sure it wasn't. You'll be rewarded."

"Oh. Will I?"

"Certainly, darling." She proceeded removing one diamong ring from her right hand. "This ring is worth more than a thousand of these bottles. I just ask for one per day, for an year. Sell it and you'll have a lot of surplus cash, even supplying me with expensive liquor."

"That much?" The woman smiled, blinking once. "You are indeed willing to be generous, aren't you?"

"I always am, dear, I'm a very giving person."

At that, Sharon almost choked. The unmistakable wave of red hot pulsing lust invaded her. Blinking once, she turned slowly to the other woman.

"Well, dear, deal done, you have your ring, I have my yearly supply of bottles."

The woman smiled, adjusting her brown hair in a ponytail, blinking her hazel eyes. Sharon actually shivered at the icy cold tendrils of menace mixing up with the heated lust.

"I had access to your file, inpatient number 139. Looks like you miss your husband, because he knew how to fuck, right?"

Sharon hugged the bottle, just staring.

"I don't want it to be any kind of rape, I want us to really connect on some level. You are beautiful and I couldn't take my eyes away, number 139. Perhaps you drinking some of the liquor will ease up your inhibitions. Besides, think on the bright side. I don't have a violent inclination, and I cannot impregnate you, two good advantages. I also cannot give you any diseases, unlike other male orderlies here might, I must add. They respect me though. You would be under my protection, like this. Let's have one companionable drink tonight, I promise I won't touch you now. Call me Lisa."

Sharon just stared, as Lisa took the bottle off herself, serving her a full dose of absynth, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon meets Lisa and learns the price of liquor at the Asylum.


	52. Grand Theft Auto.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Kurt have a wicked plan.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Frost Chambers, 14th April, 1938, thursday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you sure it wasn't an inferior underdeveloped animal mind? Like, mice, bugs, or that old lady down the road who smiles too much and always calls you Tommy and me Sammy when we pass?"

Kurt hygienised subject's 09 mouth, preparing the breathing tube to be inserted. Brian, on the other side of the room, clipping short subject 10's toenails, answered.

"I'm not sure of anything. Does she calls us that???" He shook his head "What if it's an evil telepath, only disguising?"

Kurt actually whimpered. Not again. No paranoia, please. No one deserves that. 

"I thought we were properly shielded from telepathic invasion?"

"Certainly. My range doesn't go beyond a quartier though. I tried, but I can only cover the whole complex here, from the upper to the lower levels, until the outer gates and the sentinels, so I can't scan for threats unless it's really close. By the way, did you know that the sentinels I told to go fuck themselves are now in a relationship?"

"Brian the gossipy matchmaker." Kurt finished jellying the tubes for insertion. "Ending this pod I'm taking a break."

"You? Break? Why?"

"Nature's call." He finished the procedure and downed the subject at the liquid.

"Again? You've gone four times already today, since breakfast."

Kurt, heading to the dressing room, asked since when he started counting, without looking at his back.

Once inside, relieving himself, he received the unmistakable telepathic reply.

_Sorry, dear, every time you think of going to the restroom I have to take a peek because I think about your d..._

_Good grief, Brian, can't I even piss without you looking?_

_Peeking doesn't hurt, dear. You should be proud, and consider it full bodied appreciation._

Kurt sighed, yawning. They had to finish the cleaning in order to hit the airstripe, in their travel for a break at Westchester. 

Today would be the most wicked day in Kurt and Brian's criminal life: they were going to steal two empty pods, and it would take all of Brian's focus on the facilities' personnel to prevent detection and recording of the smuggling.

As such, in companionable silence, both finished their subjects, left to lunch, and just plainly behaved normally, until the clock chimed 1600h.

Checking the hour at the wall clock, Brian squinted then locked his eyes at the security cameras, ordering the security with a booming command to quit recording all the cameras and all the accesses to doors, faking an electronic failure at the whole complex. 

Once Brian nodded, on cue, Kurt took hold of the wheeled transport chart, manoeuvring it towards the empty pods labelled 11 and 12.

Holding his breath and focusing, he lifted only with his arms, in one slow move each cocoon pod, placing them silently at the wheeled chart, fitting one over the other with care, to avoid breaking their glass plates. Once finished, he rubbed both hands together, then looked at Brian, nodding and finally pulling the wheeled chart with ease through the corridor towards the elevators, as his criminal partner was making sure everyone passing by would just ignore them.

Once they hit the airstripe, Brian commanded the pilot to bring the plane closer, then open the cargo door, as Kurt pulled the pods in, fitting both at the bottom of the Lockheed, seatbelting them securely. Brian made sure their numbing command would remain active for at least 36 hours, time during which they would only follow his orders.

Still silently, they returned back to the laboratory, changed from the lab clothes to regular clothes, caught both suitcases in hands, and only then Brian released the electronic recording of all devices within the complex except the plane at the airstripe.

As such, leaving as if nothing had happened, placing their access numbers to close the Frost Chambers, locking the lab behind, and reaching the airstripe back, this time properly security-recorded, both waited with neutral faces the still numbed pilot call them in for the flight.

Once inside the plane, Brian invaded the cabin, resting his left elbow at the pilot's seat, placing the right index and middle fingers at his right temple, closing his eyes.

The pilot started speaking in appropriate lingo that they were leaving the airstripe and requesting authorization.

"Authorization granted. Reaching NY in 26 hours and four planned scales."

"Acknowledged. Take your seats, gentlemen, please put on your seatbelts."

Brian, satisfied, released the pilot's temple, leaving the man on autopilot, finding his seat besides Kurt, who smiled back, holding his hand, interlocking fingers. Both had done it, and no one would be the wiser to know about their grand theft.

\---

As the airplane left, Irene, from her office, beamed wickedness, nearly congratulating the couple for the plan. They were lucky she actually liked them. Try they may, they may hide from everyone, but no one hides from Destiny.

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stolen pods will now be part of Westchester's underground lab.


	53. Gattaca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Kurt open for the first time the Underground Westchester Lab.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Underground Lab, 16th April, Saturday morning.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Brian opens the two doors of the underground lab at the same time, wearing his white coat, stepping in beaming happiness as Kurt followed behind.

Walking through the tiled floors and walls, both checked in silent approval the pristine benches and counters made of marble and inoxidable steel, observing the sets of brand new zweiss microscopes brand new from Germany, still on their boxes.

Nodding to himself, Kurt moved to check on the glassware, namely the becquers, essay tubes, erlenmeyers and the loads of bacterial growth glass plates.

Brian on his side, went to check on the bunsen burners, the working of the negative pressure chamber, then let fo count the boxes of gloves, glass syringes with metal needles, needle sharpeners, gauze, cotton, 99,6% pure alcohol and many other substances and objects needed for the full setting of the lab.

Once the initial inspection was over, Brian moved towards the sealed Frost Chamber, as Kurt rotated the lock, opening the heavy door. 

With Kurt still outside, both tested the inner safety lock, to make sure it could be unsealed from the inside in case of incidental locking of the door. 

Once Brian released himself three times in a row, they deemed the mechanism safe for both to come in at the same time.

Stepping in silently, they stopped side by side, smiling like idiots, Kurt's arm on Brian's shoulders, glaring with a gleam in their eyes at the two smuggled pods.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Underground Lab, 16th April, Saturday morning, later.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Can't I just... hmmmm... 'squirt' on a sterile little pot? I'll even let you 'help'!" He smiled winking, appealing to a certain blue eyed man's crass self.

"Tempting, but I'm afraid not, dear, we need whole stem cells for cloning, this time we are making clones, not reproducing regular embryos."

Kurt groaned, lowering his pants, exposing the left hipbone. Brian cleaned the skin with mercurochrome, then readied the huge metal needle with which he would collect the bone marrow sample. Kurt held a scream, biting on a piece of cloth, as the needle came in.

"Don't complain, you are the one who wanted it without anaestethics".

_Can I change my mind?_

"Sorry, love, now it's almost over."

He finished the bone marrow punction, storing the content on a metal tube labelled KM-APRIL-1938, then placed the needle for sterilization.

"In about to half an hour it's my turn. Then, we are both working into the creation of our own personal clones."

"Why are we making clones of ourselves instead of making female clones to replicate our study here underground?"

"Clones may come handy. Who knows? We might get a prize!"

"Ok, boy with the magnifying glass at the ant farm, your call." Kurt rubbed the patch on his hipbone, wincing. "Now, genius, tell me, how are we cloning ourselves without a female clone to serve as basis and womb for the clones to grow?"

"Aha, I knew you would ask me that, dear." He winked, taking one folder. "You don't think I gave all my knowledge to the BW project, do you?"

Kurt raised one eyebrow, taking the folder in hands and turning pages.

"I apologize for not telling you earlier, but I wanted it to be a surprise. While you were playing chess with Charles and napping your lazy self around, I was reading Scientific American, and came across medical cases of women who had extra-uterine pregnancies, and concluded the embryo can survive even in inhospitable environments as over the bowels, feeding from its arteries and veins. As such, all we need is an immortal sample of tissue, such as undiferentiated stem cells from the bone marrow, forever replicating bloodline cells, to created a baseline mass of undiferentiated tissue that can survive with little input but nutrients, oxygen and of course, stable environment and temperatures, like at the interior a pod."

Kurt gaped.

"Yes, Kurt, don't think so loud. I have managed to produce, in very small scale, experimentally, from monkey tissues, an artificial vessel-rich lining capable of engulfing the embryo while it's still needed, suffering natural deterioration as the embryo matures and grows. Let's call it the self-limited 'artificial' uterus, love. It must be produced individually for each clone, by its own owner's genetic stem cells, in order to work, so there can't be a mass-produced 'artificial womb'."

"..."

"Yes, yes, thank you, dear, I appreciate the compliment, I'm brilliant like this, a true genius, and I should be getting prize after prize, I know. But, now focusing on ourselves, it allows us to create clones without base female subjects, increasing our chances of sucess immensely. We won't need to wait at least 14 or more years to impregnante a subject like this, we can start right out. We win 15 years, Kurt."

Kurt was too amazed for words. How could he love a man anymore than he already did? Falling to his knees, he held the other by his waist, murmuring something about Brian marrying him for real and letting him have their babies together.

Laughing out loud, Brian called him ridiculous, guided him back into standing up, then pointed to the clock, telling him to get ready because it was now his turn to get the bone marrow from his own hips.

\------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian's genius and the now partially functional lab allow for the production of their own personal clones thanks to an amazing scientific outcome.


	54. The girl in the blue striped pajama.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma finds about subject 11's existence, bringing her to life.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Caspartina, Engine Room, submarine level, 27th April, Wednesday night.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She stepped slowly, dressed in a silky white nightgown, bare feet, her pale blond hair still short but growing, pale blue eyes sparkling like diamonds in the dimm light of the engine room, where machinery whirred and beeped lonely under the otherwise ominous silence.

Eyes prodding the control panels, she followed through the beeping lights until the entrance of the storage room, taking sight of a kind of metal coffin, approaching slowly and taking a peek on the lid.

In horror, a hand over her mouth, she watched the glassy eyed child trapped inside, topaz eyes locked open, a horrifying tube coming out of her mouth.

Remebering how Herr Klaus rescued herself off the mutant-experimenting facility, she pondered this kid might have been rescued as well.

Why hadn't it be awoken yet though?

Looking at the inumerous buttons, the input numbered pannel, she sagged frustrated, thinking that she would love to know the code to open this metal and glass coffin.

Squinting at the pannel, slowly fleeting images filled her mind, as she plucked information with sharp diamond precision from Klaus' mind, reaching the right numeric sequence.

Typing it on the pannel, she was amazed to see the coffin whirr and glow ominuously as the buttons and barometric meters flicked on and off, needles oscillating, and finally with a deafening sound, the lid opened, revealing the child inside, fully covered by the viscous proteic liquid, aspect similar to the amniotic sac fluid, complete with skin sheddings due to the lack of mainentance.

Seeing the kid choke on the tube on its mouth, glassy eyes blinking and hands reaching its throat, Emma, disgusted, helped the child out, pulling the tubes out of its mouth in one single move.

Chocking and vomiting bilis, the child made gruesome noises, now sitting with the lower body still under the fluid, jerking at each coughing motion, as Emma observed afraid to touch. Looking the kid up and down, it was a small sized girl, apparently five years old, brown hair as short as her own's, blue eyes blinking tears of agony from choking previously on the now discarded tubes.

Once the child stopped behaving convulsively, Emma could come by, tapping her back lightly, visibly disgusted at the viscous liquid sticking out of her skin and gluing into her hand.

Before Emma could speak or ask anything though, she had been thrown to the other side of the room, making an emma-shaped dent on the other wall, losing her consociousness instantly.

Scowling, angry beyond all grief, staring at the young telepath's unconscious form, Klaus Schmidt, responsible for the blow that sent Emma to the wall and turned her into diamond form, ignored her (for she would survive, and besides, she deserved it for being nosy), and turned his attention to the coughing kid.

It wasn't what he planned. This child wasn't supposed to be up yet. He was storing this subject for years in the future, not now. What the fuck would he do with a pre-school kid?

"Hey, kid."

The little girl turned to him, focusing her topaz blue eyes on him. Klaus inhaled deeply, shaking his head. What was done was done. He would punish Emma again later. Now he had a carefully constructed lie to tell.

So, kneeling down, close to the child's face, he held her in arms, pretending to care, and told her that now she was safe, and that he was glad that he had finally rescued her from the mutant facilty, and that he would be her 'vatti' from now on.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Caspartina, main room, surface level, 27th April, Wednesday night, hours later.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lazily spread over the sofa at the main room, the Dark Queen was as usual licking her fur clean in jaguar form. She had just awoken from sleeping 20 hours in a row, as beffiting to a big cat, and could hardly wait to jump into the ocean in black polar bear form to hunt for some seals.

Musing about dinner, she blinked twice as Klaus Schmidt came in the room hand in hand with a small child dressed in a blue striped pajama.

"So, little girl, this is my rescue vessel, and this big black cat here will be your 'mutti'. Pet, shapeshift."

She yawned, stretching and crouching over herself, changing into human form, the back glossy cape framing her back. Kneeling down, she came level to level with the child's face, tilting her head right, smiling.

"Hi."

The Dark Queen nodded. Klaus Schmidt spoke.

"She can't speak. She was rescued from the facility as well. They experimented on her too."

The kid made an 'O' with her mouth, nodding simpathetically, then hugging the black clad women, who held her back.

Klaus Schmidt snickered, folding his arms, as the little girl whispered her newly given name 'Magda' to the pale woman, asking her if she wanted to get a name too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The newly christened Magda begins her life, under the hold and rule of Klaus Schmidt.


	55. Hide and seek.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More cryogenic pod science takes place at the underground lab.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Underground lab, main lab room, 14th May, Saturday morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Brian leaves the frost chamber, taking his pair of gloves out, placing it over the table. From the microscope, Kurt raised his eyes, expectant.

"Yes, you are correct, dear, the clones are fully thriving. My stem cell lining is a full blown success!"

He beams, as Kurt rotates the revolving nosepiece once, removing the plate, cleaning the oil from it, storing it aside, and finally standing up from the bench. Stretching his back and making a face, he sagged on a nearby armchair, closing his eyes and massaging his neck.

"So, when the mainentance routine begins?"

"I knew you would ask that, my friend."

Kurt rolled his eyes, knowing that certainly Brian would come up with some brilliant evolution of the project, smiling and waiting. The smaller scientist sat besides himself, resting his head against his shoulder.

"So, genius, tell me why there will be no mainentance."

"Because we cannot disturb the normal growth of the lining. Opening the pod might bring contamination to the sensitive tissue. Besides, once the cloned embryos grow, since the stem cell lining is virtually immortal, they will retain umbilical cords and keep receiving nutrients from the living lining until the day they are removed from it."

Kurt nodded, amazed.

"All we have to do is ensure the nutrient lines to the pods keep flowing, and keep replenished. Since I have connected them to the kitchen system during the making of the project of the lab, technically, all that is needed is supplying the system with whole milk, whole eggs, refined sugar, and 'voi-la'. We don't even need to be downstairs to supply it. Hell, it doesn't even need to be ourselves, I put specific orders for Walter to feed the lines, and if there is someone I trust for that, it is him."

Kurt raised his hand.

"What if the nutrient lines fail?"

"In that case the failsafe security system of emmergency cryogeny of the pods will take place and cryopreserve the clones, until the lines can be restablished, or the pods open, and if it happens, the nuclear battery system that filters oxygen into the pod breathing system will start operating to make the preservation work."

"Right, now, more importantly, how long will we take to be able to use the clones? It's not like we are recent graduates and can really wait for more 15 years for them to have a reasonable size and adult-like functions."

"Certainly not, I intend us to have our many scientific prizes in hands way before that. According to recent researches, the input of GH can be maximized by the use of certain micronutrients found in whole foods like the very nuts you seem so fond of, which on a side thought might be one of the reasons you have such a fantastic build, love. Anyway, everything is scheduled to depend on the nutrient lines, and they really depent on being fed. The rest is natural boost through nutrition and our own peculiar genetics."

Kurt nodded, gripping Brian's left shoulder with his right hand, pursing his lips, ashamed for not having thought about a quarter of the recent developments. 

Removing his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his labcoat, Brian leaned against Kurt's chest, making himself comfortable under his right arm.

"Don't. You aren't a geneticist, so this side of the work isn't your responsibility. The nuclear field you chose to work with is much more honourable than the weapons field I am very glad you are not into, I'm not fond of Oppenheimer's work at all, and I am sure you will adjust the nuclear batteries to work with maximum efficiency to ensure perfect clone development, dear."

"Of course, in what depends on me they will function for 30 years straight or more without fail if needed be. More than enough to change them whenever needed, Brian."

"See? We are a great team! The only thing I miss from Alamogordo is the occasional mind slave to do the microscope routine."

Kurt mumbled something on Brian being an incorrigible bastard, shook his head, and finally stood up complaining he needed a restroom break and a nap before dinner, kissing the top of Brian's head and leaving the lab with a wink.

\-----

Upstairs, Charles, riding his tricicle, beamed like a beacon, as Kurt passed by.

"Hi, boy." He ruffled his hair.

Smiling, Charles stopped the tricicle.

"Hi, uncle Kurt! Will you play chess with me?"

"Certainly, after I take a nap, I'm tired from yesterday's flight."

He nodded, staring for five full seconds, then opening his mouth in an 'O' and gaping at the tall man. As Kurt walked past, he spoke again.

"You can bring your friend to play too."

"Sure, Charles, but I believe your dad will be as usual devouring his papers, studying."

"Ah, dad's boring, he never plays with me. But you and your invisible friend will!!!"

Poor boy, he thought. Must be at that phase when they invent imaginary friends. Kurt decided he was better off humouring the kid, otherwise he would get no chance to rest.

"Fine, Charles, my invisible friend will be there to play with us. Now, let me take a nap, please."

"Ok, uncle, love you two! Until later!!!"

He beamed his topaz blue eyes, resuming his triking. Shaking his head, Kurt left. Children and their imaginary friends...

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Kitchen, main table, 14th May, Saturday, lunch time.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

For once, Brian is on time, having the light entreé of salad, instead of digesting genetics for lunch. Cain and Kurt are just wolfing down mashed potatoes, fried chicken legs, rice and beans without really tasting it, and Charles is refusing any real food to get earlier into dessert.

Out of nothing, Charles started giggling.

"Uncle Kurt invited his invisible friend for lunch!"

Brian raised one eyebrow. Kurt, between two forkfuls, shrugged.

"He's into imaginary friends now, he even invited me and my friend for chess earlier."

"Ah." Brian nodded, patting Charles. Cain, mouth full, stared between them. "Good to know, son."

Charles looked between his father and Kurt, moving his peas around the plate, pointedly not eating them.

"Uncle is silly for eating too much, his friend isn't even hungry. Daddy, I want dessert now."

Serving himself the smashed potatoes and one chicken leg, Brian waved absently to the dessert. Charles and Cain clapped hands and stole the jello together, running away from the kitchen screaming that each would eat more than the other. Kurt blinked.

"Now where is the discipline in that, Brian?"

"They are just kids, let them have fun while they can, dear."

Out in the distance Cain screams that Charles is not letting him get any dessert. Kurt facepalms.

"You spoil them, Brian." He looked at Cain's discarded chicken leg, looked at the door, then captured it with his right hand and just crudely chomped on it. Brian snickered.

"I spoil everyone, and you know it, _homo superior_."

Currently more homo than superior, Kurt mused, finishing the chicken and licking his fingers.

"Such lack of manners, darling. I change my mind, you are a caveman!"

At that, Kurt snorted, mumbling one 'as you wish', and finally standing up and capturing Brian over his shoulder, caveman-style, leaving the kitchen undeceremoniously, thinking all along that if he wasn't already, he would better make everyone start forgetting them right now.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Brian's Master Bedroom, 14th May, Saturday, Later in evening.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A sector in the wall of Brian's Master Room opens up, revealing the secret passageway between the bedroom and the library downstairs. From within, the infectious smile and beaming topaz eyes from the five years old child, followed by Cain's emerald green, fill the room. Both are whispering.

"Are you sure father's invisible friend is here?"

"Yes." Charles nodded in the dark, unaware Cain couldn't see. "I want to surprise her."

"If she's invisible how do you know she's a she?"

"I just know it."

Charles walked looking behind the courtains of the room.

"We won't find her. She's invisible, and the room is dark. Besides, father hides things very well. I never found out where he keeps the spare coins."

Charles seemed to think on the subject. As far as he knew, the invisible friend was alone here. He couldn't find anyone else in the room with his mind. So, there would be no harm done in lighting the place on, just for a second, right?

\---

"Good grief, why did you turn the lights on, I'm trying to sleep, B.."

The giggling children swarmed right on Kurt, climbing up on him over the covers.

"Playing hide and seek??? Found you!!!"

Now wide eyed, he looked around, finding Charles and Cain jumping and giggling on the bed right by his feet. Blinking, crimson red flushed, he fleetingly stared at his left, finding it empty. 

Glad he was half decent wearing the pajamas bottom, Kurt sat up, clearing his throat.

"Now WHAT you two think you are doing???"

"Playing hide and seek, father, we found you!"

Kurt facepalmed. Were they around an hour or so earlier they would have seen things they shouldn't. Taking Cain by his shoulders, he shook the boy, bringing him closer, to eye level.

"Didn't I ever tell you to KNOCK, Mr. Cain Darkholme-Marko?"

The boy lowered his eyes in defeat, stopping to jump. That was his full name, and it usually meant bad things. Charles looked mildly afraid between them.

"Will you hit me like mother used to do?"

Before Kurt could do anything, still gritting his teeth, he saw both boys go immobile and glassy eyed. Blinking once, he turned to the left, finding Brian, stood up besides the bed, arms crossed before his chest, shaking his head.

"There, much better, now release Cain."

Kurt did. Pinching his nosebridge, Brian inhaled deeply.

"No, they didn't get in through the locked door, no, Cain didn't forget to knock, and no, don't hit the boy. Not needed. Now they are leaving, right, lads?"

Both Charles and Cain, immobile and unblinking, nod and stand up from the bed, unlocking the door then leaving. Following behind, Brian locked it, turning to Kurt, who shook his head and raised his arms to the air ready to scream. Brian interrupted him.

"No, they won't remember, I made them forget."

"But if they just forget they did wrong they will never learn, Brian!"

"Ok, do you HONESTLY want to teach them NOW that it's wrong to enter the bedroom where two consenting adult 'criminals' use to have their proclivities together BEFORE they even learn why we are 'criminals' or even what proclivities are? I can summon them back if you wish to try."

"When you put it that way..."

"I am correct. Right now it's better they forget."

"Well, at some point they will have to learn to respect something as basic as a locked door." Kurt pouted "To a house so big we seem to have an awful lack of privacy."

"They did respect the door, dear. They came through the library's passageway."

Brian pointed to the back of the room, where the wall was still partially open. Gaping, Kurt pointed at it.

"This is a fucking secret passageway!"

"Looks like it isn't so secret anymore, I'll have to start to keep it locked."

"This house is a castle, do we even have gallows, a crocodile pitch, a drawbrige, and a tower to keep a princess at??"

"Volunteering to be the princess, I wager?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. He meant metaphorically. Brian shook his head, and the other man sagged.

"I don't know what I would do without you. I'm too impulsive and easily angered to properly take care of children."

"That's why I'm here, I tone you down." He turned the lights off, finding his place in bed. "Now come on, sleeping beauty, time to rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles is into imaginary friends these days.


	56. Witchcraft voodoo rabbits.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisa struggles with Sharon before therapy.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Salem's Asylum, Sharon's Room, New York City, 28th May, Saturday early morning.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharon, socially drunk to a level she could function without detection from the orderlies, was morning greeted by Lisa, who helped her up.

"Morning, sunshine. Good to see you are not wasted, we wouldn't want me to have to cancel the moorning therapy again to avoid the doctor seeing you drunk, would we?"

"You take such good care of my interests, Lisa. Cheers!"

"No kidding. Now wash your face and teeth. We agreed you could drink anytime, except the nights previous to the group therapy. Remember?"

Sharon shook her head, giggling. Absynth was a good one. It was mildly alucinogenous, being precisely the mix she needed not to spend the day feeling people's emotions. The blue pill had stopped working, and only the absynth now helped.

"Sorry Lisa, won't do again."

"I know you won't, you are a good yet uncomprehended girl who does 'anything' to get her wishes granted, right?"

Sharon nodded vigorously, as Lisa sighed, removing her nightgown and helping her into inpatient clothes. Usually she went only to a rather direct exchange of favours with the inpatients, but she had to admit Sharon was a high-mainentance tricky bastard.

Sharon required constant attention, from pampering to making sure she wouldn't fuck things up. She was bossy, bickering, egoistical, but given the right amount of incentive, she could be the clingiest and most shameless bitch Lisa had ever seen.

Which brought them to the current situation. Sharon became the equivalent to a content puppy, alcohol-drugged to certain limits, eager to please but demanding attention so not to poop on the carpet.

"Good, good, now the other arm. You can do it, Sharon."

"You treat me so well, why can't you exchange places with Brian?"

"Because, Sharon. Now the trousers."

"So out of fashion, who wears white all the time anyway??"

"Inpatients do, now dress up."

Lisa sighed. If it weren't for the 'anything'...

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, swimming pool, New York City, 28th May, Saturday morning,  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The pool was no longer frozen at Westchester, which brought immense expectation on Charles and Cain. After rigorous cleaning and chlorine treatment was applied, according the standarts at the public bathhouses in NY, under Walter's scrutiny, everything was carefully set awaiting the arrival of the houseld head for official opening for the children.

Even though it was a foggy day, and it wasn't yet summer, it was no longer chilly and at the warmer hours of the day finally some outdoor entertainment not involving horse racing or polo, jogging and morning exercises, could be done.

As such, precisely at ten, Brian beamed by the pool behind his black rimmed spectacles and his very scandalous navy blue topless brief-fashioned high-waisted swimming trunks (the ultimate fashion!), since last year the law that forbade men of swimming without a top was laid to waste.

Charles and Cain followed suite each wearing their brand new boxer-like swimming trunks with matching blue and white striped tops, running and jumping right into the water.

Shaking his head and complaining about indecent exposure (grumbling that Brian was a very bad example to kids everywhere) was Kurt, wearing his old fashioned Y-back black wool swimwear, with the uneeded use of a surplus black top shirt, lightly form fitting.

"Call it a victory, Kurt. Now men can expose their bare chests to the sunlight without being arrested!"

"I still pretty much prefer to remain properly clothed. Modernities..."

"Such a waste of a great sight. Black not always hides weight gain. You even look fatter with this monstrosity on, right here."

He patted Kurt's underbelly twice, getting swatted on his hand followed by a gritted-teeth whisper.

"Hands off! I'm not fat, this is merely my 'healthy academic pudge' showing."

Brian snorted, raising both arms up and placing his hands on his neck from behind.

"Certainly, man of science. Let me seize the foggy sunlight, now I can start tanning my bare chest unafraid of the law."

Kurt shrugged, fleeting a glance at Brian's naked torso.

"You are too white for tanning, Brian, but don't come crying later when everything hurts. If you wish to expose these indecent nipples of yours to the sun, your problem."

"Nipples aren't indecent, dear, only the noises you make when..."

"Brian!" He looked around, to check if anyone listened, then added in a whisper. "It's not my fault they have become increasingly sensitive."

"Right, got it, as usual everything is my fault, you overzealous moral watchdog, so keep your shirt on and have a syncope under the sun, I wouldn't want the neighbours ogling you anyway, even from afar, you're _mine_."

Kurt rolled his eyes, still not resting against his reclining chair, squinting at the other mansions on the horizon.

"These neighbours must have telescopes, can you honestly see anything on the closest castle, I mean mansion nearby?"

"Are you asking the myope about it? No, dear, can't see anything, much less hear their minds, they are just too far, unfortunately, it would be fun to see their depest secrets unveiled." He waved his hand in the air, beckoning for Walter "Good Walter, can you please bring us orange juice? Thank you ransomely."

Walter nodded, leaving. Charles attempted drowing Cain, failing miserably, jumping at him and clinging to his shoulders as the older boy just shrugged, merely standing up from the water, preventing the attempt and telling him to try again.

"They will drown themselves."

"Nah, we are here to rescue them. If they get too silent we worry." - he opened the newspaper. "Ohh, crosswords!"

Shaking his head, then fleeting a look at the children, Kurt observed both throwing water at themselves and giggling, finally spotting the deeper side of the pool, deciding upon a jump and a swim.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 28th May, Saturday morning, later.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"He's off, normal reflexes though. Probably a heat induced syncope. You always get complicated friends, Brian. You just never learn."

Dr. Chandra stored his stethoscope back in his suitcase. Brian nearly growled. He did tell Kurt would get a syncope with that wool monstrosity he insisted wearing, plus the offending black shirt.

"What do you suggest we do, Dr.?"

"For a start, he must be out of that wool thing. Care to help?"

Out at a downstairs guest room, easier to reach from the pool grounds, Brian and Dr. Chandra remove the wool bathsuit, as Brian swears he is burning that thing today. To add insult to injury, Kurt was dressed with even more clothing underneath. Loosening the high waist underbriefs until the pubic bone, Dr. Chandra dones a careful glance at his lower abdomen.

"Brian, do you have any idea on how long he's like this?"

"Oh, it's his fatty academic pudge, probably since Oxford. No big deal, he eats like his stomach's a bottomless pit, I'm surprised he isn't worse off."

Dr. Chandra humms, adding a second hand and thumping lightly the middle finger from the right hand at the corresponding finger from the left hand, in a screening fashion over the lower stomach, whispering 'Good lord' and 'Not fat, what is..' in between thumps. Brian raises one eyebrow, snorting.

"Well, Doctor, will he live?"

Dr. Chandra lowered his gaze.

"I wish you wouldn't joke right now, Brian. This, this, put your hand there, it doesn't catch, this is a tough mass, echoing solid under brief examination. Due to the location, it could even be prostrate cancer on a good day, or even the rare gonadothrophic meso-entheric carcinoma on the worst of possibilities. Both will require immediate laparotomy, but the first one sports a chance of survival."

Brian was still, shocked, pointedly not touching the supposed mass.

"...isn't he slightly too young for prostate cancer, or any cancer for that matter?"

"Almost 40, not at all, perfectly possible."

"God, doctor, you aren't helping!!!"

"You are the one who shouldn't be complaining. We found out in time, maybe. Help me with symptoms. Feeding habits?"

"Eats like a horse, as usual, sometimes eating these awful things, mixes everything in the plate, it's a horror show. Why?"

"Hmmm, pica syndrome, weird appetites, maybe lack of a micronutrient like magnesium or chromium. Does he have a fondness for nuts?"

Brian nearly choked, then adjusted himself. Obviously Chandra meant food.

"Yes, rather likes them infact."

"Let's see, what about pissing?"

"Usually pissed off at the kids' antics, but that's his default."

"Brian, focus. I meant urine."

"Oh, sure. A lot of times per day."

"Hmmm, it tips the scale towards prostate cancer."

"Doctor!!!"

"None of that, lad, I brought you to life, keep me feeding info. Really no feeding habit change?"

"Now you mention, avoids food in the morning. Then, later, eats anything he puts his hands into."

"Good grief, it tips the scale to the rare meso-entheric cancer."

Brian grits his teeth. Sometimes he just hated MD's and could almost understand why Kurt avoided them like the plague.

"So you actually don't know what he's got."

Dr. Chandra shook his head.

"Sorry, Brian, we will have to run tests. Since the rare meso-entheric tumor is the worst possibility and will require full exploratory laparotomy with bilateral ileal lynphadenectomy plus peritoneal emptying to ensure moderate survival, this is the first possibility we need to exclude. It's a so dangerous tumor that deep abdominal probing should only be done immediatelly before surgery, so I can only fully inspect with my hands once I run this one test."

Dr. Chandra cleaned his spectacles. Brian still stood to attention, waiting for the conclusion.

"So, I will need a urine sample and a virgin rabbit."

Brian widened his eyes.

"What are you, a pagan priest? Is the rabbit in for a virgin sacrifice?"

"In a way. The rabbit always dies. But it's the only way of knowing so far. I'll take the urine sample to a laboratory that maintains such stock of rabbits. If it is a meso-entheric gonadothrophic tumor, which would be the most deadly and require immediate surgery, this is the first and most crucial test ever."

Brian pursed his lips. Kurt remained unconscious, his abdomen exposed.

"The urine sample is non negotiable. Your friend, your call."

Dr. Chandra handed a little sterile pot into Brian's hands.

"But... He's still unconscious."

"Well, the earlier we discover, the more chances he has."

"Can't you catheterize him or something?"

At this, Dr. Chandra shook his head.

"You catheterize him, boy, I may be a nice doctor but sometimes my patience has limits. You think you deceive me. From your previous answers it's more than obvious you know him slightly too well, and you two have something 'else' ongoing here. I could see it the first time you called me to assist on your friend, but back then it looked like polite worry. You are lucky I like you too much to turn you to any authorities."

Brian gaped.

"Sorry, lad, you don't even know how to be subtle sometimes. Let's say 'everything,' added to you sending your wife to the asylum, plus today's worry, well, only a blind man wouldn't see. So, I'm waiting for you to make yourself confortable and providing the urine sample. I'll be waiting outside.."

At that, Brian's hand lifted towards the Dr.'s face, wide open in a 'stop' motion, and the doctor turned glassy eyed.

"Sorry, Dr. Chandra, memory wipe needed. Now, to the exam. I believe this will NOT be made outside my secret lab. So, while I gather the urine sample, you will leave and return with said virgin rabbits, at least seven, plus the standard operative procedure rules and norms concerning this test for me."

Dr. Chandra nodded, turning on his feet and leaving. God, he loved using this mind control thing!!!

Meanwhile, Brian pinched his nosebridge, turning towards Kurt, sitting besides him on the bed.

"Kurt, I'm pissed off enough already, so piss online back and just piss on this vessel here, or I will have you telepathically controlled, not only commanded."

Silence. Brian sighed, mumbled a quiet 'I told you so", then closed his eyes, palming both hands in Kurt's temples, until the other man opened his eyes, glassy.

Releasing his face, eyes closed, Brian remained very still, frozen on a sitting position, as Kurt stood up, wobbling.

"Good lord, so it's how to be inside his mind." 

Brian, mind controlling Kurt, and seeing through his eyes and feeling through his body, made a pose and grinned. 

"I feel so tall, and hot and everything, I'd never have any work done if I lived in his body!"

He beamed a little bit more, flexed Kurt's hands and pinched then slapped the taller man's ass once, in mute approval. Groovy! Breathing deeply, he mused that now he would get the urine sample, and then all would be good and well.

Lowering Kurt's briefs with Kurt's own hands, taking slightly longer then medically needed, he managed to produce an acceptable urine sample. Taking then a bit more of his time 'feeling' things and sighing at the lost chance to do some truly kinky experimentation, for soon Dr. Chandra would be back, he contented himself in storing everything back in place, then sitting down on the bed and leveling up with his own body, cupping his own face and giving his own immobile self a very languid and slow kiss.

At the end of it, Kurt's body collapsed back unconscious on the bed, and Brian slowly blinked his own eyes back open, licking his own lips. That whole thing felt very weird, almost like self-voyeurism with a hint of masturbation, but at least he had the sample. Who needs to catheterize when they've got powers? Besides, training his powers doesn't hurt, who knows when he would need to fully take control of another body again?

As soon as the mind-controlled Dr. Chandra returned with the virgin rabbits (who the hell keeps virgin rabbits anyway???), Brian would keep the doctor at the mansion, under his command, until the test came to effect. He could hardly wait.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester Underground Lab, New York City, 28th May, Saturday afternoon.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Glassy eyed, down the underground lab, Dr. Chandra injected a sample of urine at the peritoneal cavity of each rabbit, kept separated from each other by panels that prevent them of seeing themselves. 

Interested, Brian took notes of the procedure, adjusting his glasses, as Kurt remained knocked down (this time with the surplus aide of a dose of chlorophormium) upstairs.

Once the puppeted doctor was done, Brian sent him to sleep, adjusted his mind clock for the 24h delay, then headed back to the guest room to keep watch on Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian struggles with Kurt and the impending results of a medieval test.


	57. Test result positive.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian gets to the results of the gruesome test.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester Underground Lab, New York City, 29th May, Sunday afternoon.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I still can't believe you let 'good' Dr. Chandra notice your attachment to me. If it weren't for your powers we would be fucked, and not in a good way."

"Obviously I was nervous because you bloody syncoped inside the pool under risk of drowning and I had to go in and bring you out with Walter and Cain's help, 'man of science', and then the doctor actually found that mass on your stomach, your 'lovely academic pudge'. I wasn't exactly feeling prime. He says we must exclude cancer, and that is what we came to do today."

"Good lord, will the smell of rabbits ever go away from the lab?"

"Certainly, we are cleaning it later with water peroxyde and 99,6% alcohol. Now, to the slaughter. According to the operative norm, the rabbit should never take sight of another rabbit, or the test is gone to waste. We are supposed to search for popping haematic vesicles on the virgin rabbit's ovaries."

"What's the point of this test? Audition for a horror movie? Sure looks like one."

"Apparently this test is effective for the detection of a rare type of cancer that Dr. Chandra thought you might have."

"Sorry for the expression but this doctor is full of bullshit. I can't have cancer, I'm too young for cancer, not even 39 yet. Besides, cancer makes us lose weight and I definitely gained some, nothing so terrible, but I did. People say 'marrying' makes you fatter."

"As usual, my fault. I take the blame." Brian snickered. "But I will take no chance with your health. Now you go to the left batch, I go for the right. We meet in the middle. The formahldeid pots are ready."

\---

Three hours later, seven rabbit pelts later (all ready to be cleaned and cured with each rabbit's respective brains), a goresome load of guts and organs and blood later, Brian and Kurt, both dressed in casual daily clothes and the blood stained white labcoats, observed very mute at the row of seven little pots, each housing one pair of ovaries floating in formahldeid.

"Looks like I'm unfreezing Dr. Chandra's mind and having you inspected, then immediatelly operated in the next hours. Not undergoing operation is NOT negotiable!!!"

"The test must be wrong. I can't have cancer!"

"Kurt. Dear. The ovaries don't lie!" He shook each of the seven glass containers with two formahldeid preserved rabbit ovaries each. "Seven positives, so it can't be just some insane idea. I'll have Dr. Chandra summoned, and you'll have to let the good doctor inspect you throughfully and deeply on this academic pudge of yours."

"C'mon, virgin rabbit's ovaries with haematic vesicles, it isn't medicine, it's witchcraft, Brian!!"

"Kurt, it means you have a highly rare meso-entheric gonadothrophic tumor, most deadly and you are requiring immediate surgery!"

He pointed to the low abdominal mass barely showing, as Kurt covered his stomach again with his hands.

"No one is operating me, if I indeed have cancer I'd rather die of cancer, and you will take care of Cain for me when I die!"

Brian rolled his eyes: not negotiable, silly man. He opened his left hand in a 'stop' motion and immediatelly, glassy eyed, Kurt followed suite to outside the lab.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchest, Kurt's guest bedroom, New York City, 29th May, Sunday afternoon.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt laid on the bed, telepathically 'asleep', as Dr. Chandra was called in, and at Brian's snap of fingers, unfroze, unaware of the previous 24 frozen hours.

"Good morning, Mr. Xavier, what do I owe your summon?"

Snickering, pondering that everyone is a dick and feeling no pity for fhe doctor that might turn them in to the cops if he could remember, Brian gestured to Kurt.

"Yesterday you inspected him and found a suspicion of a rare cancer. The tests were completed, we had seven positives, so now you must deeply inspect the mass and followingly call for the ambulance and ready everything for Kurt to be operated, no questions attached."

Dr. Chandra nodded, unquestioning, not recalling yesterday at all, moving towards the patient and deeply inspecting the low mass. Clearing his throat, he spoke.

"Wow. If he weren't a man I'd have to consider the possibility of pregnancy."

Brian choked on air. What?

"I mean, sure, it gave positive on the meso-entheric gonadothrophic tumor test, but that's odd: It's a well round, apparently benign-shaped tumor, which just doesn't follow the general description of the meso-entheric gonadothrophic tumor, that is supposed to be irregularly spread, like an octopus all around the abdomen, not located in a tight round mass. That's highly irregular, but fine, maybe it's an initial tumor, the test doesn't lie, so I'll need to perform a full laparotomy to make the radical surgery, then have the tumor inspected at the Pathology..."

As the doctor spoke in slow motion in his mind, Brian pondered at light speed: what an absurd and ridiculous proposition. 

Almost as absurd as himself having mind powers, or as Kurt's amazing flexibility, agility and untrained strenght. 

Kurt, pregnant. If he were, he would have been having the good classic morning sickness, strange cravings, pissing all the time, cramps, mood swings, extreme tiredness, increased sex drive and..

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

The mental boom of 'forget and leave' invaded Dr. Chandra's wandering mind, and stopped his stomach-probbing hands. Totally controlled, he nodded to Brian, caught his wallet, then left, closing the room's door.

Alone, the blue eyed man sat on an armchair, looking between Kurt and the row of seven rabbit ovaries with popping bloody vesicles formahldeid preserved in glass vessels.

Mentally reviweing the last months, in a sudden many things could make sense with the absurd proposition. He only had to find a way of confirming it.

Approaching the bed, he stood up before Kurt's telepathy-knocked out self, besides the bed. 

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, pinpointing the minds in the house, locating the half-thought that had been plaguing him for weeks now. Blindly, he hovered both hands over his friend, noticing how the half-thought pulsed bright as soon as the hand moved over the abdomen, then weakened by the feet or head.

Finally, he stopped over the mass, resting his hand on it, being immediatelly invaded by the white-hot pulsing electric beat of neural activity and electroneural stimulation of cardiac muscle underneath.

Enthralled, scared and amazed, Brian couldn't believe it.

For lack of a better therm, despite how surreal and impossible it seemed, it was really happening.

Kurt Darkholme-Marko was indeed pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no sonogram available for medical diagnostic in 1938. Hormonal biochemical readings were unavailable to the general public, althout the methods were under research on special facilities. The only way pregnancies could be diagnosed by doctors was by the rabbit test, and by delay of monthly periods, plus the start of foetal movements as it progressed. Certain cancers could be detected by tests, but mostly the exploratory laparotomy was the only resource available to really diagnose and treat them (open, see, cut, close, hope..).


	58. Nursery Rhymes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian tells Kurt what's going on. Mutant mpreg warning.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchest, Kurt's Guest Bedroom, New York City, 29th May, Sunday evening.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Night, dear."

Kurt awoke completely nested around blankets, pillows, sheets, a stuffed bear with a blue bowtie, and a tray of chamomile tea and dry crackers on the nightstand. Looking at his right, he found Brian laying on his left side, looking directly at him, head resting on his left hand, a stupid smile in face, and his right hand loosely resting over..

"Brian, why are you cradling my stomach?"

Brian smiled wider.

"Brian, you are scaring me."

"Why, Kurt, why didn't you tell me?"

Tell what?

"About this!"

Kurt blinked. This what?

Brian beamed.

"That I'm going to be a daddy!"

Kurt stalled. What????

"Yes, dear!"

He squeezed the other's stomach lightly. Kurt fleeted his sight between the hand and the blue eyes.

"Since when have you become delusional?"

"The ovaries don't lie, Kurt."

"Wasn't it supposed to be a deadly meso-entheric gonadothrophic tumor that was going to kill me?"

Brian ignored him, smiling the widest he could. 

That's it, he finally lost it, thought Kurt, the prospect of me dying of cancer got him insane. 

This moment, Brian spoke.

"Oh, please, love. How come you didn't know you were... this peculiar... and could get pregnant?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, because I can't, I'm not a woman?"

Brian sighed. He knew it would be hard explaining, so he just placed his left hand's index and middle finger at Kurt's temple, sending the memories and ponderings of the last hours directly to his brain.

As if hit by a 220 joules heart-stopping electric jolt, Kurt jerked his head backwards, hitting the fourposter dossel bed's headboard. 

Goddamnit.

"Brian, tell me you are making a very sick joke to me."

"I'm afraid not, my friend. I'm not THAT creative."

"So, the voodoo rabbit ovaries with bloodied vesicles popping..."

"Yes. In men they usually mean that awful tumor. However, in women the first diagnosis for the test seems to be pregnancy. For obvious reasons, the doctor hadn't considered the chance for you, and has jumped to the worse."

"However... "

"However, no matter how improbable, considering the amazing things and powers we seem to possess, and the fact I can detect a kind of half-thought right on your 'pudge' can only mean option number two."

Kurt gulped. So that was what the half-thought was.

"...and... still..." He waved his right hand between Brian and himself "...you are perfectly ok with that."

Brian nodded, beaming. The unmistakable tendrils of white-yellow telepathy invade Kurt's mind, filling the edges of his sight.

"...it still makes of me a freak." Kurt sagged.

"Oh, darling, don't feel like this, just think with me, maybe this hermaphrodite thing is part of the package deal that comes with your gift. You know, strenght, flexibility, lax joints, that roasted turkey thing you do, then the backwards bend, then..."

Beyond shame, Kurt interrupted him.

"Brian. Try to think on MY side for a change. I. Am. A. Freak. Capital F on Freak. They will want to study me!"

"Not in what depends on me! Remember? 'Ve got powers!! No one will lay a finger on you! Thinking about it, only _I_ ever laid a finger and 'more' on you."

He beamed. Kurt facepalmed.

"This is surreal. When is it due?"

"Unless you got periods, I don't know how we will count the due date. We hadn't exactly had sex just once, to make sure it would be a one-shot event. More like many shots." He pondered a bit. "So. Did you?"

"Did I what? Many shots? Why embarrass me asking?? You know we did many!!!"

"No! Periods, dear. Any monthly bleeding?

"Ah, that. Sure, Brian, I certainly had them, do you recall how every month I would stick a tampon up there, ask for chocolate ice cream, and you would rub my stomach to alleviate cramps?"

"Right, right, I got it, no periods."

Uncomfortable silence. Finally Kurt spoke.

"How the fuck will I.. give birth???"

Brian seemed to think on the subject.

"...hmmmmm... the same way it got in, but the other way round?"

Kurt went livid.

"...of course, it was way smaller when it got in, I wager."

"...it was big enough already!" Brian beamed. "Will you take that smug look off your face, Brian!!!"

"Sorry, love, I had meant the little wee cells, but you took another meaning entirely. I'm flattered though." 

He raised his hands in self defense, at Kurt's murderous face, then he smiled. 

"You know, even though it looks weird, I once dreamed it would be perfect if we could have a little child."

"Looks like you prayed to the correct fairy godmother, she brought the gift of motherhood to me, not you. Destiny makes fun of my misery."

\---

 

Irene, back in Alamogordo, tuned to them like a pervert, nodded, agreeing.

 

\---

Kurt sagged on his place. Brian kept a thoughtful face.

"I could take a self-learning study on obstetrics, you know."

"What? Neither of us is an MD!"

"Well, one day I wanted to be one, besides, you trusted me many times with your ass, why not this once?"

"I!!!...just..no!"

"It's not like we have any trusted obstetricians available. Would you want me to call Dr. Mildbury??? He will poke you up there. Even if I make him forget, he will have touched you there."

Kurt pondered on the subject, disgusted. Brian continued.

"We may need a hospital and an MD at the right time, but then I can make everyone forget, so it shouldn't be an issue. Though, it's a good thing we had a lab set down the manor, just in case for some reason we get no opportunity to take you to a medical facility."

Kurt agreeded. Brian continued.

"In some time it will get impossible to hide it, you aren't fat enough to have us pretend it 's blubber, but you can take an extended sick leave once you begin really 'showing'. Obviously I can make everyone not notice your state BUT I don't know for how long will I be able to keep such a momentous illusion, so we are safer not abusing the gift for that extended period. Until due time, I can always be your obst... asstetrician."

"...your obsession with my ass is appaling."

Brian ignored him, looking starry-eyed.

"Good Lord, when you remove the absurd off the situation... I'm so happy, I'm being a father again, you have NO IDEA..."

Kurt had a bored glare.

"Please. Have some respect for my pre-partum depression."

"I thought the therm was post-partum depression."

"Really? To me it already started."

"Don't be a drama queen, darling. It will be all right, you'll see. Joyous even! And think on the bright side, we got the civil partnership wrapped before it happened, so technically this is a pregnancy within 'marriage'. Of sorts."

Kurt nodded absently then shook his head, facepalming, as Brian beamed optimism, standing up from bed and telling him to rest, for he would take care of everything and wrap up all lawsuit possibilities with Dr. Bernard Shaw, leaving the room with a huge smile and a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens in the next chapters. No happy bunnies ahead.


	59. It's not all fun and games.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian finds out the worst way telepathy can be dangerous.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, Irene's Office, New Mexico, 01st June, Wednesday morning.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Good morning, gentlemen, time for our trimestral reunion."

Brian nodded, handing the lab folders into Irene's hands. She fleeted her sight between them, smiling a second too long at Kurt, fully dressed on his labcoat, cross legged with the left leg over the right knee, both hands interlocked right over his lower abdomen.

Irene mused that by doing that, Kurt seemed to have a knack for worsening things by drawing attention precisely to what he would prefer to hide. She snickered.

"I hope that despite the loss of the subjects the... results... had been... positive."

Kurt winced, recalling the seven dead rabbits. So much for positive. 

Brian raised one eyebrow at Irene, asking himself how much she knew, squinting then meeting her rather neutrally dull electric mental pattern, finding no thoughts beyond the focus at the reunion and the reports to come, annoyance over what would there be for lunch, and a suggestion that the rent might be past due. Before he could try deeper probing, he was called to attention.

"Good morning, gentlemen, how are my two favourite scientists faring?"

Eyes wide and the beginning of a scowl in face, Brian gritted his teeth for a split second. He knew this voice.

"What do we owe your visit, Dr. Mildbury?" Irene beamed. 

Kurt actually moved slightly on his chair towards Brian's direction, shifting his crossed leg to the other, leaning away from the chair on his left where Dr. Nathan took seat. Holding his cane in hands, Dr. Nathan mentioned he wouldn't lose this month's trimestral meeting for nothing.

Discreetly probing the doctor's mind, Brian met the same worry shared by Irene on the test results, intense happiness at its positive prospect, and a slight wave of lust and fascination added to the fleeting thought of Kurt being an 'interesting specimen indeed' underneath.

Holding his will to turn Dr. Nathan's mind into a puddle of goo, Brian sulked on his chair, until he was called into attention.

"Dr. Xavier?"

He stared at Irene's direction, who was holding an official report.

"Now I have your undivided attention, news from Engineering. Since you sent two pods for repair and the Engineering deemed them irreplaceable, and irrecoverable, discarding them, we have ordered the custom production of two new ones. Unfortunately, they won't be available until July. I'm afraid Dr. Marko will need to recallibrate them before we apply the lead plates over the nuclear batteries, then. Sorry for the extra radiation."

Kurt was about to aquiesce, when Brian raised his hand, a spike of preoccupation filling Kurt's sight.

"Sorry, but he had been out of his perfect health and might risk the new pods. I offer do the adjustments in his place, I'll follow the directives blindly."

"It's a calculated exposure, he gets to wear the standart protective lead lined vests. Need I remind you, Dr. Xavier, that he is the nuclear physicist and as such the one supposed to be subjected to radiation, not you. I can't see what the worry is about, Dr. Marko always knew about the risks, right?"

Irene adjusted her glasses. Brian pursed his lips, as Kurt sighed.

_Tone it down, Brian, I know you are amazing and worried about induction of foetal mutations, but it would be really good to not call their attention on this kind of worry now._

"So, Dr. Marko, any objections?"

"Absolutely not. Consider recallibration done."

Irene nodded absently. Brian gritted his teeth at the thoughts of 'Should make surprise visits at their lab more often, Dr. Marko looks positively edible.' coming from a slightly too grinning Dr. Nathan.

Brian was increasingly annoyed at how come the lewd thoughs were affecting his demeanor. He actively tried blocking them, to no success. 

He was angry and snappy and although he had trained well into mind control and mind read, he didn't try shielding against common thought projection, and as such his mind in a sudden skyrocketed. 

He could now listen to the cafeteria lady complaining on the amount of dishes to wash and her cheating husband, the pair of gay sentinels at the complex's gates were setting a dinner date out, the engineers on sub level one were puzzled over at the load of tapes who failed recording data a few weeks ago, Dr. Mildbury was imagining despicable things to do with _his_ Kurt, the pilot of the private jet was receiving a family call telling his mother died, and Brian also received the thoughts from the minds of a couple - bickering - and two children - crying and wailing - passing by the road beaming confusing mental images of expectations and fear at them crossing the desert without a job on sight, followed by the lab assistants on sub level 2 preparing bacterial culture growth medium and musing about pranking HE, Brian, by adding their own spunk to the mixture - gross lads, they will pay! -, returning to Irene pondering that she wanted chocolate chips, to Kurt, who was horrified that he, Brian, was gritting his temples and screaming...

With one last screech Brian collapsed on his knees, faling face flat on the ground, breaking his spectacles and his nose, which was tilted to a side and bleeding. 

Wide eyed, Kurt remained immobile on the armchair, hands gripping both thighs. Dr. Nathan knelt down, turning the blue eyed scientist on his back, as Irene stared between them three, one eyebrow carefully raised.

"Dr. Xavier? How many fingers?"

"...five on your hand, and two about to pinch m..."

The yell of YEEAAAAAAARRRGH filled the room followed by a *CREACK!* as Dr. Nathan gripped Brian's nose, putting it back in place in one swift move with a sick smirk: Kurt winced.

Sitting, dizzy, Brian lowered his forehead on both forearms, loosely crossed on his knees, as the blood dripped down in his white labcoat.

"..."

Brian's mind filled with white noise, no thoughts available, not even Kurt's, who kept making faces, raising eyebrows and looking at him, trying to communicate. Dr. Nathan wrote a medical leave in his name, handing it to Irene, who roled her eyes.

"Really? Really? Sick leave? Is that really needed? It's just a nose."

"Dr. Xavier will contaminate the laboratory with his blood, not to mention risk fainting or worse, what if he accidently mixes the wrong substances and they explode?"

Irene waved absently, grumbling a noncommital noise. Helping Brian up, Dr. Nathan opened the office's door, beckoning Kurt to come with them, declaring the meeting over.

Once out, at the corridor, Dr. Mildbury called for a passing by technician, telling him to accompany Dr. Xavier into bedrest in his personal quarters at sub level two. 

Without complaint, visibly out of his own self, Brian left, taken by the technician, as Kurt remained reactionless and speechless in the middle of the hall, labcoat dutifully closed up to his neck and down into the last button (unlike what he would have usually done - removing and placing it neatly folded on his left arm).

"What an unfortunate outcome, Dr. Marko. I hope it won't swell to the point of everybody noticing it."

Kurt nearly snapped his neck turning to Dr. Nathan. Oh my god. He said swell. He's noticed the slight swell in his abdomen and Brian was incapacitated and wouldn't be able to mindfuck him into silence and submission, and unless strangling Dr. Nathan with his bare hands - which he could do in a heartbeat if needed! - would be an option, there was nothing, absolutely nothing he coul...

"...could you believe he would crash his nose like this?"

What?

"His nose, Dr. Marko, it will probably swell up to the size of a tomato and be the talk of the complex for days."

Kurt released the breath he didn't know he was holding. Dr. Nathan exhaled in tandem. After ten full seconds of silence, he boldly enlaced his right arm at the curve of Kurt's left arm.

"So, Dr. Marko, let's have lunch."

Blinking, he was led down the corridor for nearly 20 steps. Once he could think again, worried about the total lack of _Brian_ filling his mind, he stopped walking and resumed speaking.

"Sorry, Dr. Mildbury, I must return to the lab downstairs."

"Nonsense, we never get the chance to be friendly. Dr. Marko, may I call you Kurt?"

"I wasn't hired to be friendly, Dr. Mildbury."

"Oh, you may call me Nathan, better, Nate."

Kurt stared, blankly, breathing deeply then speaking.

"Excuse me, Dr. Mildbury, my partner is downstairs under sick leave, certainly there is work delayed, and I must finish it in his place."

He removed Dr. Nathan's hand from his arm, nodding once, adjusting his labcoat and leaving down the corridor. Dr. Mildbury shook his head, and couldn't prevent a shit-eating grin creeping up his face.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, Irene's Office, New Mexico, 01st June, Wednesday morning, later.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Can you believe he didn't want to be friendly to me?"

"Imagine that."

"I've been polite. I called for lunch. I told him he could call me Nate. NATE, Irene."

Dr. Nathan seemed genuinely sad. Irene snickered.

"I told you. Totally married, and as you know very well, with a bun in the oven. You get no chance."

He pouted. Not even his late mother called him Nate.

"You don't understand, Irene."

"I do understand. You are a sick fuck who has an unhealthy crush on pregnant wom... people."

"Says the old hag who has the crush on unborn shapeshifters."

Irene sighed. She wasn't that pervert. She was willing to wait until the age of consent.

"Dr. Nathan. For more than 16 years you didn't even bat an eyelash at him, now he's with child, you suddenly want Brian out so you can woo Kurt."

"Precisely! Good to see you got my point."

"Dr. Mildbury. Nathan. Nate. Netty. Kurt has the strenght and agility of three men. You don't really want to piss him off to the point of getting trashed, do you?"

"Wouldn't mind getting trashed."

Irene facepalmed. Why me. Sometimes she just felt surrounded by idiots.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo Facilities, Brian's Private quarters, New Mexico, 01st June, Wednesday morning.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting inside Brian's private quarters in S2 level, Kurt finally removed his white coat, sitting on the chair besides the single bunker bed, extending his arm to card his fingers on Brian's hair, receiving a low grunt as answer.

"I'm killing Dr. Nathan."

"Good to see you are back to your old self, Brian."

"Not entirely. I had an anger-triggered overload. My nose is clogged and swollen. My glasses are broken and I can't see beyond the reach of my own arms. Can't hear any thoughts. Can't mindfuck people. Can't find your mind." He pouted, nose swollen like a smashed potato. "Feel lonely."

Kurt pursed his lips. He felt lonely too, with his mind dead cold and totally silent. In a sudden he knew what it would mean to ever lose Brian. No more mind meld. No more open roads. 

No more kinky telepathic sex.

Kurt nearly slapped himself. Brian was injured and here he was thinking on sex. Damn special condition.

"Brian, let's leave. Fuck this place. You are on official sick leave, and I don't care about losing the payment equivalent to today's work day. Besides, we need to get you new glasses."

"Have 'spare at'home. M' fine."

"No, for once you don't be stubborn. Get your ass out of this bed, I'm driving us home."

"Oooh, bossy, me gusta."

Well, that was an improvement. Kurt snickered, shaking his head.

"C'mon, telepathic pest." He slapped once Brian's ass, who yelped in surprise, as Kurt barked one single full laughter. "Shameless incorrigible prick. Let's fuck your telepathy back into your brains. Move!"

Brian beamed, muttering an "always", coming to life and nearly jumping like a gazelle until reaching the ford, as Kurt drove the car.

On the way out, the two matchmaked sentinels fleeted one single glance at them, and without question, opened the gates. 

"What, no ID today? No pestering us to know why I am driving my own car???"

Brian smirked, amused, unable to tell one guard from the other without his glasses. Sharing a glance, both sentinels gaped for a second, then flushed crimson staring at the ground. Looking at the guards, Kurt snickered, not forgetting to wink once then honk, twice, looking at them with a big grin. Brian waved them a goodbye on the way out, and both scientists resumed cackling in the distance.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Xavier-Marko household, 01st June, Wednesday night.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

That night Brian awoke blinded by light.

Musing that the sun wasn't up yet, and asking himself where the flash of light came from, since no one was up turning the lights on, he blinked, adjusting his eyes to the near darkness, outlining the closer shapes nearby.

Finally focusing at the sight on close seeing range, he couldn't help smiling. He had been dead asleep on the couch, head resting on Kurt's lap, the forgotten ice bag thawing on the ground, his nose still swollen although unclogged, and the taller man leaning his back on the sofa, neck uncomfortably twisted backwards, snoring lightly.

Looking at his left, he raised his right hand to lightly brush fingers at the patch of skin exposed right between Kurt's navel and the pajama bottom, getting the same earlier white light feeling under his fingertips, smiling and releasing his breath.

He had been afraid he had lost his powers forever. Feeling the half-mind of the foetus was a relief. Everything had felt so utterly silent after the immediate overload, that he feared he had broken something in his brain.

Apparently, all it did was send him into telepathic shock. And a broken nose. For the first time seeing that his gift wasn't only fun and games, Brian kept fleeting the lightest of brushes on the slight swell that would become his kid, receiving each time a light electric jolt.

Usually he had to focus to get at people's surface thoughts, so blocking things out was a non-issue until today: the only thoughts he usually captures without effort are those meant for himself, like when people are actively thinking about you or towards you, and you get drawn like a magnet.

He pondered if the gift of telepathy was different for each potential telepath. He mused it would be hell on earth if he had to keep blocking people's passive thinking out of his mind every single time of the day. He didn't wish that kind of telepathy to anyone.

He was glad his seemed to be the type of gift where he is more into mind control, bodily control, and planting thoughts and suggestions and commands into people. He didn't appreciate not being in control. As such, even though he had sealed his mind from telepathic invasion and probing, he decided he would need to learn blocking people's passive thoughts out, not to get insane in the event he gets another overload someday.

Looking up, he found the curve of Kurt's chest moving with each breath. Brian was also very happy for the full mind meld he achieved with him. It was like a fully open channel he could listen to whenever wished, and through which he could send and receive thoughts, images and feelings. 

He could hardly believe Kurt surrendered his mind like this, knowing he would be forever an open book for Brian, and that his friend would never be the same open book for himself. Kurt's use of their connection was limited to sending and receiving, but he could never peek at a single thought or image within. If Brian truly wished to lie or deceive, he could. Kurt couldn't. Not that he wanted, but he couldn't hide anything.

Which was the reason why he respected his long therm friend. Most people didn't get why he had been putting up with Kurt, who seemed like a totally mean and emotionally wrecked man, prone to collected anger, cold glares, and distance from people, all over the years. What they didn't know is that he was fiercely loyal and would do anything to keep up his promises and duty, and had never found reason to outright lie. He was one of the few who didn't suck up to Brian's fortune, hoping to achieve any favours, and that was something. He never feared pointing his mistakes.

"...I wager you are back to the world of the thinking, Brian." 

He groaned, cracking his neck. Brian blinked slowly, beaming his topaz eyes at him.

_'Ve got my powers back. We should be celebrating them._

"Sure we should, Brian, I just don't think monologuing at 03 AM right into my mind is fair to me. Somehow I must deserve it."

_Poor darling. Allow me to give you something fair that you deserve then._

"Brian!!"

_Yes, love?_

"It's not fair to be doing... THAT and invading my mind like this!!"

_Sorry, dear, mother thaught me it was unpolite to talk with my mouth full, so._

"...will you at least have the decency to follow minimal rules!"

_I actually do, and they are good rules, just a bit of teeth, don't overuse vaccum, keep dribbling..._

"You insufferable shameless telepathic slut..."

_If you can mouth such big words I'm not mouthing THIS right._

"BRIAN!"

_Good, my name. Keep saying it. It will be the biggest word you'll remember when I'm done._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian never loses hope though.
> 
> Meanwhile, Dr. Nathan Mildbury, also known as Mr. Sinister, mutant obstetrician extraordinaire, feeds his unhealthy obsession with pregnancy and x-genes, and it might just have reached its turning point with the occurence of Kurt's mutant pregnancy.


	60. Before the storm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene needs to forget. Dr. Mildbury decides to plot.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Irene's office, New Mexico, 07th June 1938, Tuesday, early morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Irene was throughfully pissed, recalling Dr. Mildbury's newest obsession.

He had no right in interfeering with her careful planning. By being around Kurt, he just increased the danger to Brian in the current timeline tenfold.

Knowing he knew she would give him suggestions to hinder his own actions, Irene knew she would need another kind of intervention to prevent any permanent damage to her flawless timeline. She had to make sure all would turn well to her interests in the end, and she had to make sure the bricks would be set soon.

She didn't have much more time. The Caspartina had set sail from Europe five days ago, for Klaus Schmidt wanted to make one visit to his granddaughter Sharon. He was sure she had suffered some deep shit, and was intent in making Brian pay. It had also increased a hundredfold more the likelihood of an attempt against his life.

So many dangers. So few time.

She felt a pang of sadness. She rather liked Brian, and sometimes there was just nothing she could do. He was easy to mock and easier to love. Even cold Kurt melted for him - hell, he gave his mind and body to him. It was being hard enough masquerading her own thoughts with deliberate inanities in his presence, but it had to be done. 

She risked too much in Brian knowing about his potential futures or lack of thereof.

The one she felt sadder for though was Kurt, that she could see so broken, sad, abandoned, the hopeless pregnant widower, lonely, angry, bitter, vengeful, enacting his frustration precisely the way he was supposed to, bringing misery into Sharon's and Cain's life, who would both in their turn bring full misery in Charles' life.

Her time was short. She could confuse Brian's telepathy, but not Emma's. Emma would know her plans and intentions. She was delaying things the most she could, but she would have to make herself forget.

For now though, for the first time in a long while, recalling how her true OTP Brian/ Kurt would eventually end up, she took a bottle of hard russian vodka to herself, snickering sadly. To hell with her precognition.

She had put all the possible courses of action into motion.

She had made sure there would be a dimm chance for everyone in the end.

She needed to drink. Drink to cry, drink to forget, drink until her mind erased all her plans and ideas and thoughts, drink until the memories about who were and who would be, finally fogged and withered, and the Destiny she set could be preserved from interference from the telepathic bitch Emma under Klaus Schmidt's rule.

As such, she ignored the need for a glass, and downed the vodka down her throat in large gulps right from the bottle, eyes closed, burning, as the sheer numbness slowly crept at the edges of her mind, and she smiled, for a fleeting second almost understanding Sharon.

Once again, sacrifices. Irene was taking the blow for her own future. No one could know of her plans.

Not even herself.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, downstairs, New Mexico, 07th June 1938, Tuesday, early morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Irene trashed herself upstairs, Dr. Nathan Mildbury tiptoed down the halls, intent in visiting the whole complex.

He had already gone through the first level to check up on the oxygen valves and supplies, and he made sure to exchange a few labels between nitroglicerin bottles and water peroxyde bottles, not to mention various other chemicals, making sure they would be shipped to Brian and Kurt's lab.

He also checked on Brian's allergy history, making sure the cafeteria would serve only peanuts for the rest of the week.

And, to complete his wickedness, he also made sure to contaminate the building's water supply with scherichia coli.

If he didn't outright kill Brian, he would give him the worst allergic reaction or infectious diaorrhea of his whole life.

He gritted his teeth. He was indeed a sick fucktard, and Amanda Mueller in her immortal life and innumerous failed pregnancies had been his favourite associate until the day she got just too old to get pregnant again.

Obsessed as he was with fertility, the passing of the essex-factors, and the taste of the fantastic that being a mutant holds, he sure became completely fascinated as soon as he put his eyes on the recently fertilized Kurt at the immediate morning after, day 31 January.

Fascination would wear off as soon as the pregnancy was over, but he certainly would make sure Kurt would get a child after the other, and each would be a mutant more interesting and powerful than the previous one. 

Dr. Nathan Mildbury was beaming: he would finally disassociate from Schmidt, Irene and even Amanda. Kurt would become his own private Black Womb, and it would be beautiful and amazing.

And on last resort, if he couldn't have Kurt, no one would.

He could hardly wait.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Xavier-Marko household, New Mexico, 07th June 1938, Tuesday, early morning.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Brian, call in sick today."

Adjusting his glasses over his slightly swollen nose, Brian, formally dressed with a daily suit for work, grunted in mild pain. He didn't yet feel ready to rest weight on his nose, even though it looked practically normal, but he would need to.

"Nonsense, dear. You can't be that lazy, skipping work like this."

Kurt pursed his lips.

"I'm not being lazy, this once. I just didn't like the slightest bit your mind overload. And the broken nose. And Dr. Nathan being his creepy self. The way he grinned putting your nose in place. His hands on me, and he only touched my elbow."

"Even though I love you being protective and cautious, I can't let them think they won. So, we are going to work. Non negotiable."

Kurt sighed. He was having a bad feeling on today. He wanted to keep home. He needed bedrest and chocolates and (actual) nuts and cuddles.

"You're being emotional. I can call in sick for you, but I myself am going to work."

"Brian, please, you don't even NEED to work to live, infact why don't we resign and just go to Westchester forever, I will even agree to get one of those experimental gender-reassignment surgeries to become aesthetically a female forever for the neighbours to see, but I'm scared of going to the lab, pleas.."

"Kurt. Love. Don't say shit, you and I know what we like the most in you, so no surgery. I also understand that you are emotionally unstable and compromised by the condition, fine, you can not go, but I am going."

"But if you go and I stay we will be out of your telepathic range and I don't want to be alone."

Brian sighed. Kurt was being worse than pregnant Sharon. At least all she wanted were dresses, shoes and jewels. And complain that neither were fitting.

"Then go with me. I'm not remaining home. We can lock ourselves at the frost chamber the whole day and clean the old samples or something. We don't even need to surface until the night."

"I don't know..."

"I'll stop by the market and grab you a stock of those awfull avellanas, cashew nuts and brazil nuts on the way to work."

Kurt hesitated a bit, quickly grabbing his wallet and heading to change clothes. He really needed those nuts. 

Brian shook his head. That was going to be a long day.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Underground Labs, New Mexico, 07th June 1938, Tuesday, morning, later.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"You aren't seriously calling five packages of each a stock, are you?"

"It would be if you didn't go through food like it's out of fashion, dear."

Kurt sighed, clutching the packages against his chest, as Brian had their suitcases, one in each hand.

Locking the main lab room, unplugging the phones, and generally isolating themselves from the complex, Brian finally guided Kurt into sitting on an armchair, placing both hands on his shoulders, focusing on his eyes.

"Better? No one will get in with us. They won't even be able to summon us. Dr. Nathan will not get close you or me."

Kurt had a pained glare, lowering his gaze, as Brian opened the package of assorted nuts, rolling a couple of salted cashew nuts between his fingers.

"I understand this whole thing must be scary to you, Kurt, but try not to lose your mind. I'm with you. I can protect you, it's the least I can do for you... for us three here now."

He munched on the nuts, licking the salt of his fingers, handing the open package to Kurt, who mimicried him and ate too.

"I don't care how everything came to be. I can hardly wait to have our child in arms, he or she will be beautiful and loved. And no, don't embitter the moment, I would have loved it the same if I had been the carrier, and you know I have no reason to lie."

Kurt nodded. Brian knelt down and hugged him by his stomach, resting his face right below his navel, closing his eyes and leaning his right temple against the still concealable bump, inhaling deeply. For a fleeting second Kurt raised his eyebrow, then shook his head, smiling.

"I never had the chance of doing this with Charles. I wasn't home enough. And when I was, that bitch would always refrain from my touching, claiming I was in truth finding an excuse to sexually attack her at innapropriate times."

"...well, you do have the habit of assaulting me at innapropriate times, Brian."

Brian snickered, shaking his head and finally lifting Kurt's shirt, kissing longly the bump.

_It's not the same situation, dear. God, I wished I could crawl under your flesh and wrap myself around our kid like an overgrown taenia saginata._

Kurt winced at the gross mental image, as Brian stood up and tucked his shirt back.

"Getting home this next break, we are going to a department store. I want to buy everything."

"I was under the impression your fucking castle already had everything, Brian."

" _Our_ fucking castle. Well, in a way, there is the age-old crib, all of Charles' clothes and toys, diapers, but I want us to get OUR own choice of items for the baby. Just a few personalized things, just for a personal touch. To make this our family, not the reboot of the past. The only reason why I don't tell the boys about us and the pregnancy is the obvious."

Kurt sighed. This whole "special gift" package deal is frustrating, not to mention the already difficult situation of being homosexual at the current time and age. The quickest way of losing the children would be flamboyantly going shopping wearing a maternity dress, arm in arm with Brian, Cain and Charles running before them. Not that the kids would mind.

Brian giggled at the mental image.

"Sorry, dear, but that was a good one. Maybe one day when the boys are older they will understand at least the 'we are in love regardless of gender' part."

"I'll leave to you telling them, Brian. I just don't have a way with words. I'm not refined. I try, I learned a lot in Oxford and over the years from you, but I'm essentially a social disaster waiting to happen, and you know it."

"So much for drama, 'social disaster': to the Cº-80,0 freezer. Nothing like spring cleaning to lighten up the mood. You first, dear."

Nodding, Kurt stood up, as Brian beamed, following behind, patting his shoulders with both hands.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Underground Labs, New Mexico, 07th June 1938, Tuesday, late afternoon.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The day progressed uneventful, dull even. Due to the assorted nuts, neither even left the lab for lunch time.

Kurt spent the day pretending to work. Brian wasn't faring much better. Since the mind meld his mood was easily affected by the other man's demeanour, and as such neither was particularly productive today. Thankfully, sample discarding is a rather easy task.

"Are we still needing a sample of bacterial fagocyte virus sp?"

"Yes."

"What about the green monkey kidney cell culture?"

"Hmmm.. Yes."

"Frozen rhesus monkey embryos?"

"Oh, I had been looking for these last year!"

"What's the point of cleaning the freezer if nothing can be thrown out, Brian?"

Brian took the samples from his hand, placing them in the second freezer.

"But these can be useful still, dear."

Kurt waved dismissively, pondering about the small tubes before him.

"Did you see my own personal sample KM-1936?"

Brian shook his head, digging his own face into the first freezer right besides him.

"Can't find my first blood marrow sample too. See if you can find yours."

"My blood marrow goes fine, as well as Cain's, my five samples and his only one. I also found your BX-1936."

"Charles' blood marrow is gone too. What the fuck is going on?"

Kurt groaned. He hated cleaning the sample's freezer. It was like moving out of an old house. The things that you never found anymore, and the things you thought you had lost, are nearly frightening sometimes. Not to mention Brian nearly never threw anything out.

"Nevermind, we must have lost them somehow. My hands are freezing. What time is it?"

Kurt looked at the wall clock, and Brian picked the '1700h' from his thoughts. Closing the freezer door, both removed the fur-lined gloves, the fur coats, hung them on the wall, then left the room one after the other, locking it behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt panicks and Brian makes sure they are isolated from the complex for the day. The day is quite dull. Like the calm before the storm.


	61. The Final Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fire breaks in Alamogordo, endangering the lives of Kurt and Brian.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, Underground Levels, New Mexico, 07th June 1938, Tuesday, late afternoon.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as they stepped out of the Frost Chamber main room, a single deafening thud could be felt rumbling through the structures of the walls; sharing a glance, they stopped breathing for ten full seconds, just to be greeted by another similar sound.

Before either could ask what could be happening, once again the sound, followed by the distant fire alarm. Looking around to locate the source of the problem, knowing they were at some of the lowest levels of the facilities, they knew they had only one way out: up.

"Kurt, there's a fire somewhere on the upper levels. We have to leave. To the stairs!"

As soon as they were reaching the main lab room, the electricity came out, and the faint and flickering security light turned on automatically. Not needing to share a glance, for by now Brian had set full mind meld, both acted and thought as one, and as Brian caught two lanterns from the desk, Kurt caught a chair, crashing it against the counter to take hold of the steel rotating axis in hands.

Feeling for its weight, he held it like a baseball bat, swinging the inox steel rod at the now locked lab door, once, twice, three times, producing deep dents on them. They had to leave!

Pondering the rod wouldn't be enough, as more muffled booming noises came from upstairs, added to the scream of many people coming through the air vent, Kurt looked around, trying to find something heavier to swing at the doors.

Brian on his side was trying the best way he could to block the desperate thoughts of those running away and screaming as the fires reached and carbonised them. He couldn't get another overload now, it would be utter suicide.

Finally, after a sizzling bubbling noise, Brian's attention came to the now open door, that was slowly being devoured by a chemical substance that Kurt had thrown on it.

"Amazing, love!!!"

"Brawn is good, but nothing like brains and a full bottle of HSsBF6 thrown on the door to help."

He beamed. Brian, being himself, couldn't help and had to hug him, demanding a kiss. Kurt conceded once, motioning to the hole on the door.

"We'll have time for that once we are out, now let's move, Brian!"

Grumbling that it was never too early or too late for a kiss, Brian adjusted his glasses, and left after Kurt.

Getting through S3 was easy enough, until they reached the stairs. Once they opened the dor to S2, they had to cower, for a trailblaze came through, renewed by oxygenated air, as smoke followed behind.

Taking his fingertips to his temples, Brian scanned the facility.

"Everyone had been evacuated. The upper staff too. Irene and Dr. Nathan left at the airplane. The workers who didn't die are already out."

Kurt cursed, opening again the door, to find the fire had diminished. Both stood up and walked among the dying fires, finally reaching a corridor locked by debris from the ceiling. Without option, they had to reroute throught the chemical substances lab, as more and more explosions could be felt through the door.

Looking in, both stared in shock as many becquers and essay tubes lay scattered broken on the counters and the ground, bubbling dangerously, releasing odd-coloured puffs of smoke, some oozing an amazing amout of heat, as a few bodies lay on the ground.

Turning one of the corpses over, Brian held his mouth, looking at the corroded face of the lab technician who was face flat on the puddle of goo. Kurt grabbed him by his shoulders, and carefully both stepped through the biohazard around, avoiding anything not looking like the ground.

Out of nothing an explosion knocked a door open, hitting Kurt's right side immediately, as he fell to the ground right after hitting the closest counter and releasing a platelet full of clean glassware over himself.

As Kurt groaned and stood up, Brian came close, helping to remove the bigger shards of glass from his visible flesh, asking if he was fine. Nodding, he barely had time to crouch over Brian's smaller frame, enveloping him as a new blaze of fire hit his own back as he hissed. That was going to burn and leave a mark.

Outside the lab, there were more fires, this time coming from the housing sector, where the personal quarters of the employees who couldn't afford to go home right after work could remain. Taking sight of Kurt's burned blistening back, aware of both their bruises and rashes, Brian cowered as a new explosion came from the hall and the ceiling fell right before them, blocking the way.

Without much thought, Kurt started opening way in the debris, crouching over himself in order to avoid getting hit on his stomach, Brian on his tow.

More explosions and smoke came from the corridor as the last collumn of debris was taken away and they could move again; the dead fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling at regular intervals broke down in shards as the chains holding them up wobbled, straining as the lamps jumped up and down with each explosion and the flames took hold of the next meters, burning the wooden doors.

Finally reaching the door to Brian's personal quarters, the blue eyed man cursed, not having brought the key. Cracking his knuckles and neck, Kurt took position and literally broke the door open in splinters with a single swift kick, receiving a pat on his shoulders as Brian got in, handing him two heavy wool blankets.

Wordlessly, sharing thoughts, both headed to wet the blankets so they could keep advancing through the fire. As the chemical substances bubbled, boiled and exploded outside the private quarters, Brian and Kurt knew they had dimm chances of escaping. 

Sporting bruises and rashes, Kurt felt a dizzying wave, bracing himself against the wall, as Brian widened his eyes, pointing down his legs.

Looking down, Kurt appaled. There was humidity wetting his trousers, and he didn't recall pissing himself. A cold crept fear hit his mind. This couldn't be happening, not now.

"Stop breaking doors and raising debris now! You need to stop! You'll lose it!"

"I have to take the risk, if I just stop we are all gonna die, and then we will all be lost!"

Smoke started coming in from the door, down from the ceiling, reaching their noses and making both cough. Brian took hold of two hand towels, wetted them and handed Kurt one, both now sporting wet towels before their faces to divert the smoke from their lungs.

For a fleeting second Brian closed his eyes and checked on the half-formed thought, finding it strong and steady, nodding to Kurt. Both left the room, avoiding the worse of the smoke and the fires.

As they came close to the stairs to S1 level, still down on level S2, unbetsknown to them, the raging fires reached the oxygen pipes feeding the sterile rooms at the complex, breaking the structure of both S3 level (where both scientists would be if they didn't try leaving), where the oxygens pipes end (at the cocoon pods in their Frost Chambers), and at S1 level above them, where the oxygen supplies come from and to where Kurt and Brian were hoping to get by.

They walked through the stairs up, as huge masses of fleeting gas exploded through every possible door and debris flew all around the place, the ceiling lamps straining once more the chains holding them up to the ceiling.

As the rumbling noise of falling debris hit his ears, Kurt, attempting to shield Brian, had been hit right in the head by a falling lamp, collapsing down heavily over the smaller man, without a sound, dead unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On their way out Kurt was hit and both scientists got trapped at the underground levels.


	62. Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death Warning.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo, New Mexico, 07th June 1938, Tuesday, near evening.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He opened his eyes recognising the deserted landscape outside of the Facilities, and for a fleeting second pondered they might have been rescued. Looking around, he found the slumped form of Brian fallen at a visibly uncomfortable angle, neck bent backwards, face flat on the ground.

Widening his eyes and standing up, he almost fell down back; he felt like he had run a marathon, and he wasn't one to complain on physical strain. Sending his left hand down his trousers, he found out the wetness had dried completely, and sighed relieved, reaching for Brian.

This time crawling on all three's (for his right forearm seemed broken), he approached Brian slowly, sitting besides him, unsure if he should or not try to move him.

 _Please do it, I assure you you will not make my condition any worse._

Brian's voice filled his mind. Kurt nearly cried for knowing he wasn't dead and they had made it.

_Not so sure about it, dear. But turn my face to you anyway. I want to see you._

Deadly afraid, he craddled Brian's face with his left hand, and stared deeply in his eyes, who were now slowly opening. 

Both remained mute. Brian's mind kept talking to him.

_Kurt, you were hit down the building, and you and I would die, both entangled together under your weight. I'm sorry, but I had to mind control your body to take us out. It was mightly difficult to make you take me in arms, shield us with the wet blanket, then walk, and finally run, as if hell was after our feet._

"I... I'm not understanding."

_You will. Unfortunately, my time will be short, but will be enough to fill you in. Kurt, keep looking at me. When the lamp hit you in the head, it kept on its way down, towards me, and simply as that, swung my neck backwards. I heard the loud 'snap'. Then I slumped immobile on the ground, unable to take you from over me on my own._

"...loud snap..."

_Kurt. Dear. Yes, there is no use lying now. I'm full-body paretic and paralised. Taetraplegic. I can only blink and move facial muscles, no feel beyond the neck. I can't breath enough on my own even to speak. Probably a high vertebra damage._

"..."

_Eyes on me. Don't close your eyes on me now. God, I'll miss you. I'll miss you so fucking much. I love you._

Kurt tried his best to keep them open, swallowing his tears.

_I knew even down there that I was deadweight, but I couldn't let us two... let us three die. I had to bring you two out of the complex. I still had my mind and would make good use of it while it lasted. As such, I took over your body and held my carcass and ran, ran, climbed the last sub level and finally managed to come away, the explosions rushing in our leave, and finally, tired, I myself collapsed from mental strain, releasing my shell on the ground, then letting your body sleep the concussion off, hoping you would be up before I died. I'm sorry for your right arm fracture. I didn't have perfect control and got hit._

"Fuck my arm!!!" He snapped. " Please, don't die on me, don't do that, we will find a way, there are surgeries, we can do it together, I love you, I don't mind doing everything for you forever, there are.."

_There is only the Emerson Iron Lung for me now, and you know it. Kurt. I will NOT live with this kind of disability. I might have accepted traditional lumbar vertebrae paralysis and being wheelchair bound, but not THIS. I know its cowardish of mine to give up, so you'll have to be strong for us all. Please, go back home, and take care of our children. Don't let Sharon lay her hands on any of them. Be there for them, behold my will. Don't..._

Brian, almost glassy eyed, breathing ever so superficially, out of nothing and interrupting his previous train of thought, made then his last request.

The kiss was ashen, dirty, hungry, teeth-clashing, as if all the life in Brian's soul had devoted itself to it, his last energies and his last breath going into their last touch.

Soundlessly, like a bird he left, mouth going slack, open, eyes now dilated into a faint rim of blue, lips bluing themselves, face palling, dark rings appearing under his eyes, head falling heavy into Kurt's hands, and just like this, it was over, forever.

Kurt held Brian's corpse tight, howling his grief, frustration, possible futures never to come, and just kept there, catatonic, immobile, under the setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zoTf6tpJ6rI
> 
> _Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
>  et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
> Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,  
> et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.  
> Exaudi orationem meam,  
> ad te omnis care veniet.  
> Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
> et lux perpetua luceat eis._


	63. With or without you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> The Emerson Iron Lung was a negative pressure respirator meant for lifelong use by Polio victims and other victims of full body paralysis or taetraplegia, where recovery of motor function below the neck is not possible and even breathing capability had been compromised.
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Kurt faced the awful news and the flight of hell.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Alamogordo's Public Hospital, Burnt Ward, 11th June 1938, Saturday, early dawn.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He awoke at the public hospital's Burnt Ward, alone, bandaged and patched, right forearm encasted in plaster by his side, throughfully medicated. His first impulse was to try to stand up, but he was nauseous at the mere elevation of his head. A nurse approached.

"Morning, Mr. Marko. Don't stand up. How many fingers you can see?"

He groaned, hating this habit physicians had of correlating math skills with being sane and conscious. As force of habit, followingly, Kurt thought up 'Two'. No one replied to his thought. His mind was cold, blank and empty, no warmth underneath.

It was the moment the crude reality of life hit him. It hadn't been a nightmare. 

Brian was indeed gone. 

Weakly, he held his breath, blinked up tears and spoke in a hoarse voice, "Two.". The nurse nodded, telling she would call the doctor.

Alone with his thoughts, he reached his left hand down his lower abdomen, under the sheets. Before he could muse on anything, the doctor came, a small blue eyed man with heavy rimmed glasses and a scrawny poor excuse of a beard, apparently recently graduated. 

Kurt wondered for a while that he would look more like Brian without it, then shook his mind. No one would ever look like Brian.

"Mr. Marko, you had been the sole survivor located at the site of the Mildbury and Col's Medical Research Facility. Apparently you dragged during a fit of madness the corpse of your lab partner Brian Xavier while escaping yourself, and almost didn't make it out."

Kurt blinked absently.

"You were found clutching his corpse, unyielding, and we had been called to sedate you at the rescue site. Added to the effect of the sedatives, you suffered second and third degree burns in your back, arms and legs, had a cerebral concussion at the occipital region, two fractured floating ribs, first degree lung burn due to inhaling smoke during the escape, fracture in both bones of the right forearm near the wrist..."

Kurt paused his breath for a second, not knowing how through or not they would have been into examinating himself, left hand cluthing his underbelly, fearing for the worse.

"... and just plainly that had been all, no other abnormalities located. Despite being out for three days, you were one lucky man indeed."

Weakly he snorted. 'Lucky'. Destiny indeed must hate him. At least no one found out about his special condition. He breathed deeply.

"When am I to be released? What was done of my colleague?"

"Apparently on Mr. Xavier's death, there were clear orders with his trusted lawyers to meet you personally. Dr. Bernard Shaw had already contacted us two days ago, and he had been on the city all the while awaiting for your awakening. You may meet him now."

The medic excused himself, leaving. Dr. Shaw, the old sexagenarian lawyer, came in, taking his fedora out and placing it on a nearby table.

"Mr. Marko, my condolences."

Kurt raised one eyebrow, slowly propping himself on a sitting position at the bed with his free arm. Even though he felt like very much like the 'widow', he wasn't, not on any official basis. Dr. Bernard nodded simpathetically.

"On reading Brian's will, he estated clearly that you are his tutor of choice for Charles, and you are to receive a monthly allowance from his trust funds to sustain the Manor household and yourself as long as you live. I assure you, it will be more than sufficient, even on a Xavier standart, you won't even need to work to live."

Kurt stared, glassy eyed. He couldn't care less for money now.

"Of course, this is the official will. I have here with me Brian's personal will, for you."

Kurt blinked. For me?

The lawyer approached him, looking around to make sure they were alone.

"Mr. Marko, it was I who created the Firm under which your 'civil business and science partnership' had been forged. It had been me who found the house you lived in, and I mobiliated it, beffiting two work colleagues who should maintain the appearance of social normalcy. Even though no one told me, I know. Which is why I understand and respect your grief, not only because the Xavier Funds pay our Law Firm, but because Brian was a real human being."

Kurt merely stared ahead, unblinking.

"And finally, the last will of Brian Xavier, the one who will not be read before his despicable cheating wife. It is my client's will that you are to receive the following personal items."

Kurt stared down at the Oxford signet whose interior was lined with Brian's name. Followingly, the golden pocket watch, his self-winding wristwatch, and finally the two golden cufflinks displaying an X, and a thick wax-sealed letter.

Blinking once, not touching any of the items, he asked the lawyer about the funeral, voice unsteady.

"The body had been necropsized, formahldeid-preserved, and was sealed in a closed-lid steel pressurized coffin, to avoid rotting beforehand. It has a glass plate through which one can see his face. Once you are ready to travel, you and Brian's corpse will make a private plane trip to Westchester, where Brian will be buried in the Manor's grounds, besides his late mother and father."

Kurt stared. "Home burial?"

"Brian had always been very through with his documents, and he wrapped everything up. Yes, he insisted on the corpse preservation to allow for the trip and for your presence, in case he ever died first. I must add, discreetly, he made sure the same treatment would have been applied to you, including the home burial, were you on the other side of the coffin lid."

"....."

"Brian was not the subtlest of men, but he was certainly one of the kindest. Frankly, for the things he ever did, he should have been arrested years ago, but somehow he always convinced everyone he was perfectly fine and law-abbiding even when he wasn't. The world was lucky he wasn't evil. Now, please concede him this, and go, as he wished, Mr. Marko."

Kurt lowered his head, agreeing. Dr. Bernard Shaw said he could keep his personal heritage on the firm's coffers, if he didn't wish bad memories right now.

"Yes, that would be best for now. Including the letter. But please give me the signet."

He held it in his left hand, closing it until the knuckles went white. He also had the feeling he shouldn't read the letter in any public grounds.

Nodding, the lawyer left, saying he would be waiting for his medical release, and if early enough, he would still be able to get a commercial flight back to NY, for he had no intention of disturbing his last moment, even thought it was the worst possible moment, with Brian.

Once alone in the room, Kurt opened his left hand, taking sight of the signet, placing it awkwardly on his right hand, struggling with the imobillity of the plaster, then turning it between his index and thumb, finally managing to fit Brian's ring on the left hand's pinky. It would have to do.

Sagging back on the pillow, he finally allowed himself to cry, silently, until the medic came to tell him his own belongings had been brought by the lawyer and that he now would be released with a medical prescription.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
West Mesa Airport, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 11th June 1938, Saturday, later in morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dressed with a formal black suit, black tie, and dark blue shirt, Kurt, unshaved, seatbelted at the private plane, stared fleetingly at the metal coffin securely tied up at the back of the airplane. He had red eyes, his right arm on a sling, the suit framing his shoulders, and was by now too depressed for tears. In his left hand he stared at the twin signets, side by side, Brian's on the pinky, his own in the ring finger. Biting his lower lip, he shook his head.

It looked like a bad nightmare he would wake up from. He didn't yet muster the courage to look inside the casket. It looked too much like a cocoon pod, and it gave him the illusion that if he just ran the correct sequence he would open it, and unfreeze his Brian from death. As such, he would, but right this instant he didn't want just yet to look, or he might finally snap crazy, and he couldn't do it now. He had to once more become the tower, the fortress, the safe port of family. 

He had to take responsibility on two, and then at some point on three children, one of which he still didn't know how he would even remotely explain. He was glad he seemed to be too early for anyone noticing anything strange. It was awkward enough already going to the home burial and knowing he would not be the receiver of condolences. Or perhaps it was a blessing. He would certainly denounce himself if he cried too much in public.

He had to once more morph into the mold he had always been supposed to be. Men don't love, cry, or care. Men don't pine, they suffer in silence.

However, in this plane, pilot and co-pilot locked at the cabin, no other passengers, damn the world right now, he could allow himself the luxury of private grief. He would have 24h more or less to cry and sob, and thus become dulled enough to be presentable and somber and serious and supportive in his strong man role, for the show must go on, and everyone expected nothing less than him.

As such, removing the seatbelt, he walked through the corridor to the end of the plane, taking his handkchertief from the pocket and covering up his mouth, ready to bite it if needed. Staring down, he pondered he had been right.

Brian looked fresh, clean, he would dare say his face had been even lightly manicured by the funerary service, and his lips and cheekbones even mustered a healthy reddish tone. For a fleeting second the memory of the last kiss filled his mind and he actually whimpered. Brian's mouth and eyes were closed, his hair carefully adjusted framing his forehed by the sides, beautifully brown, contrasting starkly with the white skin, and as far as visible, he was dressed on the blue on blue attire, minus the fancy ornaments now belonging to Kurt, except for the wedding band from Sharon, as dead as its owner, on display as supposed to be. Eyes closed, he whispered into the mussled handkerchief.

"Why, why. Why you and not me. I'm not strong enough to do it all on my own. I'll fuck up everything, I just know it. I'm impulsive and stupid, behind my barely polished scientifical persona. I could have brought you to safety but didn't. I could, isn't there what being strong and agile serves for??? But I didn't, I got hit and bloody fainted, and you were hit and trapped and if it weren't for your own self we would both be dead... It was all my fault, Brian, my fault..."

Sitting on the seat closest to the lid, feeling like he was going to die from a heart attack, now biting on the piece of cloth, he rested his left elbow and the left forearm on the lid, diving his head in the crook of his elbow, crying as silently as possible, forehead touching the glass of his beloved friend, his one and only love, his snow white beauty, permanently trapped within.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Newark Airport, New York City, 12th June 1938, Sunday, late morning.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The day was rainy and grey. At the airplane's bathroom, Kurt just finished styling a circle beard, unable to complete a full shave midflight. Besides, it would help taking attention out of his eyes, red and dark rimmed. He felt like he had aged ten years in 24h, pain all over his body, and his usual morning cramps and some stomach sickness sticking in. The whole 'special' situation added to his grave mood.

He had stopped crying hours ago, and remained numbly watching the steel coffin, feeling confident about being in public now. The flight of hell had been almost a blessing in disguise. The only reason he wouldn't drink was because of his condition, for he certainly deserved the drinking of the century, complete with passing out and waking up on his own vomit and piss and faeces. He knew it would be months before he would be allowed even remotely this.

He tried not thinking about it now. It wasn't a problem for now, but it would be soon. He knew he would need infrastructure to bring his condition to therm. He would need the underground westchester lab.

To keep his rightful access to the household, he would need a plausible excuse. Merely being Charles' tutor wouldn't be enough. People would begin to talk. He knew very well that Brian only put up with being his usual reckless self around people because he had been using his gift of telepathy, unknowingly and ultimately, on purpose, all along, changing people's memories and opinions on himself, protecting his own image.

Kurt however knew that now, more than ever, he was alone. He didn't have a telepath he could trust, backing him up. He wasn't allowed the right to slip. There would be no 'FORGET'. With Brian he might even had been taken to a public or private hospital and had been submitted under an audience of medical students to a C-section when the time was due, because Brian would simply alter everyone's memories anyway in the end.

Now, he had to make himself his own way out. He feared he would still need, in due time, to call upon Dr. Nathan Mildbury for aide, and that then his secret would be gone. But if he could take matters on his own, he would do it, and would need the protective firewall of Westchester.

He sighed as the airplane landed, and the funerary car approached the airstripe. Time to face it all.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 12th June, Sunday, one hour later, still morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Once the airplane finally landed, and the steel coffin was taken into one vehicle, and himself on a different rent car, and both moved towards the ironwhrought gates of the Xavier Manor, Kurt readied himself to his strong man role, leaving the car with his trenchcoat over his shoulders, left arm closing the car door.

Taking sight of Walter, he walked close, as the butler ordered the house help to take the steel coffin into the main family room, where the reception would be held. Once he and Kurt were left alone outside, in the light rain, the butler spoke.

"My condolences, Mr. Marko."

Kurt sighed, clenching his left fist. These were going to be the hardest next 24 hours of his whole life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt's life is turned upside down.


	64. The Show must go on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt gets an unexpected visit.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 12th June 1938, Sunday, middle afternoon.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As soon as he hit the guest room, he collapsed on the bed, glad it wasn't the same usual room he occupied the other times. Walter always minded the details. The other room had too much memories.

Turning on his back, releasing the plastered right arm from the sling, he breathed deeply, allowing himself some sleep, before he would go for the social gathering.

He shook his head. He now would have indeed to place Cain on boarding school: it would be dangerous to let him around, since Kurt himself had no idea on how exactly his life would go from now on, but either way, he just couldn't have Cain nosing around when he was supposed to be in critical condition within the next months, and him slipping would be his undoing.

Sadly, it had to be done. 

Closing his eyes, wishing the hours to fly, he drifted slowly into sleep.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 12th June 1938, Sunday, late afternoon.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He awoke to the sound ot the knock in the door. Blinking, he stood up, removed a few wrinkles from his suit with his left hand, then opened the door, finding Walter with a tray of water and a snack.

"I thought you might be interested in eating something, Mr. Marko."

Kurt nodded, gesturing for the butler to come in. Unlike what he expected though, Walter closed and locked the door behind himself, placed the tray on the nearby table, then shook his head.

"Sorry, sir, I couldn't think of any other good excuse to come here."

Kurt blinked.

"I came here to say that they will be bringing madam Sharon from the Asylum for the burial. I am aware that you and madam had an... ongoing dispute, and that ultimately you... won, so to speak. But I needed to inform you of more details."

Kurt sat on an armchair, gesturing for Walter to sit on another, and continue.

"Mr. Marko, once madam knows Master Brian is deceased, she will show her claws again and will try to take control of the household, the finances, of Charles' tutoring, everything. She had wronged master and it is unfair that she will get her rights all back with his death and your unhappiness."

Kurt nodded, listening.

"And good Walter, what do you suggest me to do."

"Well, apparently madam has no idea at all about the identity of Master's.. mistress. Sorry for bringing it up. Sir."

"No offense taken. Continue."

"Since madam has no idea, perhaps, perhaps, legally speaking, you may be able to turn the tides on your favour. I know you had been married once, sir, so I supoose it should be no impossible sacrifice to try to woo madam and make her want to marry you. I hear she always had a weakness for strong, tall men."

Kurt winced. He hated Sharon. But he was listening: he wasn't going to reject an idea just before hearing it.

"I am aware master Brian is irreplaceable, Sir. I am aware madam Sharon is nothing but an opportunist viper and a bad woman. And I am aware you will do everything in your hands to bring justice to Brian's memory. Sir."

Kurt drank from his glass of water, pondering. That might be an interesting turn of events. He had played for long the heterosexual game with Marjorie, and he knew he was good at it. He wasn't giddy about the idea, but it wasn't a bad one. He didn't need the money that would come from the marriage, for he had already his 'pension' Brian left him. But he could indeed use the infrastructure of the household, specially the underground lab and even now build a nuclear shelter. 

He had a mouthfull of the sandwich, chewing slowly. Swallowing it, and knowing his movements had been attentively followed by old Walter, he nodded.

"Perhaps you are right, good Walter. I would be doing this family immense good in preventing Sharon of wasting the fortune away, or worse, marrying a gold digger, wouldn't I?"

"That is the spirit, Mr. Marko. I'm glad I could be of help." He stood up, bowing. Kurt stood up with him, extending his hand.

"Call me Kurt, Walter." He smiled. Walter took a second, then shook the proferred hand. "To the start of a beautiful partnership."

"Certainly... Master Kurt." He winked, then took the empty tray, unlocking and leaving the room, as the taller man shook his own head, snickering and finishing the sandwich with a final gulp of water.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 12th June 1938, Sunday, early evening.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Later, under the rain, Brian Xavier's steel coffin, now encased on an oakwood frame for aesthetic purposes, rested atop the grave over a leveling mechanism, as the priest had his final sayings and ultimately commited Brian Xavier to the Earth.

The household staff followed the funeral services, solemnly, as Kurt fleeted his tired eyes from the lowering coffin, to Sharon, dressed in a dark attire, hat in head, widow's veil and a tissue in hands, drying her fake tears.

Breathing deeply, knowing timing was important, knowing how women minds worked, boldly but respectfully, Kurt moved his left arm from under his trenchcoat over Sharon's shoulders, whispering.

"I know how you must feel, Sharon... and I _share_ your grief. But, as his friend, I shall look after you... and after the boy, too."

Sharon, feeling the full grey waves of unmistakable grief and sadness really rolling from Kurt, sighed, cleaning her eyes off the fake tears. She was totally sober for once, and her empathic abilities often told her if people were being truthful or not. She couldn't recall seeing Kurt ever try to reach her before, much less being unkind, and he was indeed grievous.

He seemed truthful enough.

Unaccostumed to kindness in the latest months, since Brian found out about her indiscretions, she rested slightly against his chest, under his left arm.

"Thank you, Kurt.. you... you are very kind."

Meanwhile, Charles, until then, sadly watching his father go down the grave, stood to attention. 

His mother had fleeting thoughts, ranging from 'He's so handsome, how come I never noticed him before' to 'It's been a long while I don't get held like this' to 'Now Brian's gone, it's no crime to try again'.

Charles didn't like those thoughts the slightest bit. 

What he liked even less, though, was the fact he found Kurt's invisible friend, but as he tried skimming through his mind, discovered it was a blank slate, as if the man wasn't even there.

Charles tried his best, but couldn't confirm if Kurt was honest or not on his intentions.

He recalled how one day he could read Kurt's mind, and thought it strange that he couldn't anymore. 

Even though father always spoke well of him, and they had good times in the past months, Charles, frustrated by being unable to use his gift on him, decided he would not trust his 'uncle' until he could see Kurt's thoughts again.

"My dear Sharon, I would gladly have given my own life to save Brian's... if only it were possible."

Kurt sighed, closing his eyes and remembering the paralised man, the mention of the Iron Lung, and the last kiss. Charles frowned, not knowing what went through Kurt's mind. 

"Kurt... You're such a tower of strenght for me... at a time like this..."

Snappy, as Sharon leaned against Kurt's touch, Charles nearly growled. He lies! He might have saved dad, but saved himself instead! Charles was sure of it. He had to believe it. For the first time, Charles actually wished Kurt to walk away from here and never come back, a trick that worked with a lot of people he didn't like in the past, but for some reason fell in deaf ears instead of making Kurt go.

Feeling angry, powerless, Charles sagged as the dirt started covering his father's coffin lid, and he was left alone, as Kurt, followed by Cain, walked Sharon back to the house, his mind forever shielded by Brian's handywork, impossible to be pried by any other telepath's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walter, the butler, influences Kurt's newest goal.


	65. The Great Pretender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt set his the plan in motion, but is less than happy with it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 13th June, Monday, early morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt awoke feeling defiled, in the guest bedroom assigned to himself by Walter.

Recalling last night with disgust, he left to the shower, stripping on his way there and turning the hot water on.

\---

Once the NY old money had left home, paying their last respects to Sharon, dutifully playing the part of the good widow, Kurt saw himself almost alone with her, once the boys were taken to sleep.

Only Walter, coming and going with drinks for madam, and sucessive glasses of water for Kurt, remained. Even Sharon's orderlies were at the kitchen biting their time and their sandwiches until the widow would leave.

As such, collectedly sitting, legs crossed, on an armchair, Kurt made sure he could make small talk, meaning, he listened almost mute to every shit Sharon decided to say and complain about.

She complained on how she loved Brian deeply, and on how he had been wronging her with his mistress, and on how he decided to get rid of her sending her into the Asylum, and even asked Kurt if he had seen his mistress back in Alamogordo sometime.

"Dear Sharon. A mistress. I'm appaled." A half truth, but one he could easily tell. "Even though he had helped me with Cain and with my widowing, by keeping me company during my grief from Marjorie, I certainly must commend him for being so discreet that I never managed to see a single woman with him all this time."

"Yes... Slippery bastard him. Toast with me, Kurt. I'm free from his rule. I can finally go back to my life, as soon as I'm out of the Asylum." She said, half-laid on a divan.

Kurt drank one more sip of water, hiding his hatred behind the glass.

"I'm afraid I have been forbiddened alcohol for the time being, due to my depression from my widowing. I will toast you though with my glass of water."

He raised the glass, and Sharon smirked, raising her martini.

"Oh, I missed the good stuff. At the asylum I just can't have the pleasures of life."

"So unfair to you, dear Sharon."

He moved from the armchair, sitting by her right side, still holding his glass of water.

"I'm currently taking care of Charles' tutorage, and as such Brian's lawyers keep in touch with me frequently. I will see what I can do to have you removed from the Asylum. It might take a few months, but I will do my best, dear Sharon."

Sharon actually stalled in her drink, looking at her right side with the corner of her eye. She could feel the steady waves of rocky cold responsibility and feeling of duty emmanating from him. The man was a fortress, a tower, a safe port, a widower like herself, and not a bad sight. Sharon noticed the two Oxford rings in his left hand, impressed, wondering he might have taken two courses there, and as such was even more capable and graduated than Brian himself.

"Thank you for your efforts, Kurt."

"My pleasure."

He then excused himself, blaming his need to rest after the awful accident, standing up and taking her right hand in his free hand (the left, for the right one was plastered), raising it to his lips and kissing the back of her hand, then her knuckles, smiling and winking once, bidding her goodnight and leaving the room.

\---

Brushing furiously his teeth for the fifth time since awaking, spitting the toothpaste down the grater, still inside the shower, Kurt sagged on the ground, sitting with is legs spread and knees bent, back resting on the wall tiles.

He had his right arm encased in a plastic film, to avoid the plaster getting wet. Throwing the toothbrush out of the shower towards the other end of the bedroom, he gritted his temple with the left hand, diving hand and head under the jet of steaming water, letting it flow free on his back.

If he was feeling this dirty and miserable by merely having a chat with Sharon and politely kissing her hand, imagine how he would feel if he had to act upon some sort of physical attraction to her.

Hopefully he would have plenty of time before that. He would get to a solution until then. He knew how to make her fall madly for him, but he wasn't willing to go 'at it' with her.

He never forgot the 'whore' echoing in his ears from her lips. He never forgot the pictures that put Brian into shame. He never forgot the fact that she is just not sexually reliable and thus might even harbour diseases due to promiscuity. Only god knows what she might have caught at the Asylum.

As such, even if he liked her (which he didn't), he just didn't feel safe to be physical with her. Thus, he wouldn't. As befitting a gentleman, he would postpone further contact until marriage.

Breathing deeply, he gritted his stomach, pondering on a mental list of elementary boarding schools for Cain. He wanted his son to grow a gentleman and a scholar, and which better place than old good UK, or one of the upper-class schools in New York? Then, Oxford or Cambridge, both good options.

Concerning Charles, the best would be home tutoring, for now. If the experience with Cain in boarding school was good, he might consider sending Charles there too. For now though, he was too young and slightly lither than most boys his age, so right now he had to be resguarded, protected.

Concerning his own self, Kurt knew he had to go see Brian's lawyers - soon to become his - today. There was a ticking time bomb in his stomach and in some time he might not be able to leave the manor.

Besides, securing his position as Charles' tutor today will grant him official access to the manor, specially for the next six months, before next year's school year begun. By then, he planned to be married to Sharon, to keep his hold on the manor witout raising suspicions.

He knew he had to play the bastard. He would do whatever he had to, even if it killed his soul in the process, to secure his three children's fate. Charles would not be soiled by Sharon. Cain would become a gentleman and have superior studies to have better chances in life. And his third kid, like Charles, would be born under the safety of the manor and have his or her full rights to Xavier inheritance, and everything that the name brings.

He was honestly curious to read what was in the thick wax-sealed letter that Brian left him.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Dr. Bernard Shaw's Law Firm, New York City, 13th June, Monday, late morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr Bernard Shaw received him with a polite handshake, educated condolences, and the contents of Brian's personal will into a now sealed box, with a key. Excusing himself, he left the room, asking to be called when Kurt was over.

Nodding, listening to the door closing behind himself, Kurt shook his head. He was glad the old lawyer was a human being better than Dr. Chandra, the medic.

Rolling the pocket watch in his hands, he sighed, fitting it on his waistcoat, then the wristwatch on his left hand. The cufflinks would be stored back home, for he couldn't sport 'X's on his wrists, neither of his surnames had an X. He would certainly give them to Charles.

Finally getting to the thick letter, he opened the red seal, unfolding it and starting to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting to the lawyers, Kurt finally gets to read the final letter and personal will of Brian Xavier.


	66. For your eyes only.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's handwritten letter from his personal Will.

_New York, 30th May 1938, Monday._

_Hi there, my love._

_It feels weird writing to your future self, knowing I will no longer be alive by then. Much less when that will be. But, that's just life, I suppose. People die, shit happens._

_What I know now is that a miracle had been given us. The impossible and unthinkable happened to us, in so many ways. Who would ever think WE might even remotely be together in first place?_

_Oh, I dreamed about it, not only in wet dreams (although there were plenty). You always fascinated me. Sometimes I think we were matched in heaven (or hell, as you would say), and no, I'm not being cheesy._

_I know what you will say, that I just can't stop being crass. I'm (not) sorry. I sincerely hope you have to stand my lewd self for years and years to come (pun intended), the same way I certainly wish to stand your emotionally stunted self until either of us has no more life left in its corpse._

_Sixteen years, more than most marriages, I feel so old. Will the children ever understand? Will the world change around us? What kind of victories wait us, what kind of losses?_

_God, I hope we might one day marry properly (after I can finally divorce that bitch!) and can share surnames and everything. I wished to beam you proudly with me everywhere, without needing to erase people's memories. I wanted them to see us and envy us and remember us for a change (they would certainly drool at you, darling, and I would beam knowing they could see but couldn't touch)._

_I'm proud of you and your achievements. You did comparatively way more than me in life. Always be proud! It's not everyday poor boys get to Oxford. You always amazed me._

_Forgive me if I turn emotional, if teardrops stain this paper. We had just found out about your special condition. I believe I have the right to be out of my rational self. I said I would come and set documents and papers with my lawyers, and here I am._

_Well, take the adendum number one. It is my full recognition of paternity, signed by me, towards our child. The mother's name is purposedly left blank. I will leave to your discretion chose one name to put there._

_My heritage to you lies on rights to the manor until Charles goes into higher learning, as his tutor, on your pension from my trust funds, on my personal belongings. Adendum number two gives to your possession my royal white chrysler. We had good times in it._

_Yes, dear. If you are reading this, it indeed means I am no more. Unfortunately my gift cannot survive death. As such, I cannot take you out of trouble. I can no longer protect you. I'm sorry for not being immortal._

_Proceed cautiously through life. You cannot make people do your bidding with a snap of fingers. Try not to let your anger take the best of you, don't do anything too stupid. Lawyers are good but aren't miraculous._

_Everything you do wil not be able to be undone in people's memories. Please, make good use of your intelligence, for I will not be around to the birth, and no memory wipe will take place. Use the underground lab as you see fit._

_Use your gift, the best way you can. All of them, including your hunkiness if needed be. What's the point of having a gift and not using it? If you need to charm your way through life, do it. I would, shamelessly (but then, I'm a shameless slut, so)._

_Yes, I meant it. Don't give me that look!  
_

 _Trust me, love, I will forgive you if you need to get a new partner or a convenience marriage or whatever. I can't hold possession over you after death, even though I would love to be a sort of incubus spirit to prey on you (a dead man can dream, can't I?)._

_Just be safe, don't waste your health, and don't get any incurable diseases. I doubt you will be hitting dark alleys, shady pubs, or fraternising on brothels or saunas (like I did in my Oxford time) so I feel safer for you, and ashamed for myself._

_But if you find someone decent enough, discreet enough, or just plainly a good girl (who knows when the heterosexual fever might hit you?), go for it. You deserve happiness, wherever way it come. I will not judge you._

_Try to avoid beating Cain. I saw it in your mind. If you can, avoid repeating your father's mistakes._

_Concerning Charles, avoid spoiling him too just because I would do it. If he needs to learn, you have my blessing to teach. I would just ask you to prefer, when possible, grounding and other forms of discipline, over beating, for all our kids. Yes, including Cain. I can call him mine, can't I?_

_Dear Lord, I love you so much it hurts. It hurts to write this, it hurts to think I might be prematurely gone, it hurts even more imagining YOU alone._

_I'll move Heavens and Earth to come back to you. I'd mindfuck God and the Devil themselves to return. If my soul can survive this shell, I will find you, and then, if you still love me, we might be together again._

_If I just don't, it means there is really no life after death._

_I'm sorry for crying and making you cry._

_Take care, love._

_B. Xavier.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt reads Brian's last words.


	67. Unexpected Visitors.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus Schmidt and Emma Frost come to a visit, finding out Brian is dead.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 13th June 1938, Monday, early afternoon.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once Kurt hit Westchester on a rent car, carrying his personal items including the now even more tear-stained letter, he found two figures in the distance, by the Manor's private burial grounds. Adjusting his coat over his shoulders, he walked there, steadly, right arm on a sling.

Getting close, he found a somewhat middle aged man, sporting a greying moustache and a few wrinkles in face, and a young pale blonde, contemplating Brian's grave. Kurt cleared his throat, calling to attention.

"Good morning, may I inquire what do we owe your visit, sir?"

The man turned to him, a smile in face, proferring his hand.

"Klaus Schmidt, Sharon's grandfather. I came for a visit and found out her dear Brian is dead. So unfortunate."

Kurt nodded, fleeting a glance at the short haired blonde, who kept squinting her eyes at him. For a second he thought he had recognised her, then shrugged the thought off. Turning back to Klaus, pondering his handshake was too strong even for himself, he spoke.

"Kurt Marko, late Brian's friend and lab partner, Charles' tutor. If you allow me a compliment, but you don't look a day older than 50, sir."

"Yes, indeed, I have been a slightly too young father, and an even younger grandfather." He lied. "Happy to meet Charles' tutor. Why does he need one, where is my grandaughter?"

"It's unfortunate but his mother, dear Sharon, is treating alcoholism at Salem's Asylum. I am currently finding the legal means to get her from there, back into home, where she belongs."

Klaus Schmidt nodded absently, fleeting a glance to Emma, who shook her head. Raising one eyebrow, he put his right arm over Kurt's shoulders.

"Let us go inside for a drink, young man. You can fill me in on the events of the unfortunate death."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 13th June 1938, Monday, mid-afternoon.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So you were a close friend to Brian."

"I'm afraid we didn't have much choice, all day locked in the lab for 16 years, it's a lifetime." Kurt lied. "I myself didn't have much opportunity for making friends outside work."

Klaus nodded. He had to assess how loyal to Brian's memory Kurt was.

"Must have been hard to be the one to survive whilst he died."

Kurt sighed behind his glass of orange juice. Klaus had no idea. Emma occasionally squinted her eyes on him, finally giving up and taking a glass of juice herself.

"Life goes on, I suppose. People die."

"It must be a great honour to be nominated tutor of his son." He insisted.

"It is."

As if on cue, Charles, peeking from the main room's door, showed up, stepping slowly. Klaus opened his arms to him, beaming.

"Good boy, you grew up so much, come hug your grandpa, son!"

Charles, meeting telepathic interference preventing him of reading Klaus Schmidt's and Emma's minds, not to mention Kurt's perennial blank slate, actually scowled and fled the room. Raising one eyebrow, Klaus looked at Emma, who shook her head: she didn't have enough time to pry on the boy's mind.

"He's been shy and away since his father's death. I don't blame the boy." Kurt added, carefully neutral, finishing his juice "I'm afraid I can't fill you in about dear Sharon, and I believe she is not allowed visitors for the time being. I shall inform you soon though, Mr. Schmidt. Please leave a contact number with Walter on your way out."

Standing up and profering his left hand to Klaus, Kurt stared right into his eyes. After a second too long, Klaus shook his hand, motioning for Emma to follow, as she stood up, squinted one last time towards the black haired man, gave a curtsy bow and left.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Downtown Cafe, New York City, 13th June 1938, Monday, late afternoon.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"What do you mean you couldn't read a single thought, Emma?"

"There is an odd mind pattern, clearly beaming from him, without a single full thought, no words, just feelings, like hunger, thirst, tiredness, sleep. He's unreadable, couldn't pry on anything, I'm sorry, Herr Doktorr, sorry!!!"

Klaus Schmidt, annoyed, hit his fist on the table of the cafe.

"Nevermind. He isn't special anyway. He is only a means to an end. Charlie boy, the young telepath, is our goal. If Kurt will make sure Charles' childhood is troubled enough to the point of honing up his abilities, so they can flourish under adversity, then it's fine by me. At least that Brian fellow is dead and my Sharon might find her way back into Westchester thanks to Kurt."

Emma nodded. She wanted to head back to the submarine. She didn't like the idea of letting Magda and that Dark Queen woman loose there.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Caspartina, Main room, New York City, 13th June 1938, Monday, early night.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Giggles filled the room, as little Magda ran around the piano in the main room, dressed in an extra long red dress, sporting two black scarpins, tripping on her own feet and beaming her topaz eyes under her extra-short brown hair.

Following her, the black clad woman ran, hands outstreched before her, hoarsed guttural groans coming from within her deep throat. Both ran one around the other for a full minute, before Magda collapsed over the other woman, laughing out loud.

The innocence of the moment would have been heartwarming, weren't for the sombre figures by the door, arms folded, shaking their heads.

"The cat leaves, the rats feast." Klaus Schmidt approached "You are proving yourself less and less useful, pet."

She recoiled, as little Magda raised her eyes to him.

"Keep misbehaving and you two will see where you will end up. Children!!!!! Emma, deal with them."

Snickering mischievously, Emma approached, squinting her icy cold glare, sending a telepathic _'my pleasure'_ as the two other females braced themselves together, closing their eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian's telepathic shielding protects Kurt during his first meeting with his intended grandfather-in-law and the icy cold bitch.


	68. Cain's Deception.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain gets sent into Harvey's Boarding School, NY.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 28th June 1938, Tuesday, early afternoon.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I don't want to go!!!!!"

Kurt merely raised his left arm to the door, as Walter took a pair of suitcases out to the rent car. Can wriggled and struggled against his father, holding him by his waist, not wanting to leave.

"Please father I'll be a good boy, don't send me to boarding school, I promise I'll be good!"

"Then be good to me and go without fuzz, Cain! Non negotiable!"

"Why can't I have classes home like Charles???"

"The experience in boarding school will be good for you. Charles is still too small to go. In six months we shall see ourselves back, son. Make me proud."

Walter came by, whispering for Cain to go. Sniffing and sobbing, he released himself from his father, and left, stopping by the door and screaming.

"I HATE YOU!! YOU ARE BAD AND MEAN!! UNCLE BRIAN WAS SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU!! I'LL NEVER MAKE YOU PROUD!!"

Kurt lowered his gaze, clenching his left fist, as the boy was taken to the car and Walter came back in, locking the doors of the mansion. Charles, watching from upstairs, half hidden behind a decorative collumn, frowned and gritted his teeth, pondering he would miss Cain, and that he wasn't liking at all his uncle Kurt anymore.

\---

Back in Brian's office, by the land line, Kurt made a couple of phone calls, selecting private tutors for interview. He had to provide Charles education, and the boy needed to start reading and writing, and maybe learning a musical instrument or two, languages, and even a couple of elite sports.

Pinching his nosebridge, he sighed. It hurt being hatefully compared to Brian. His son Cain would never understand the real reason he sent him to boarding school, and he sincerely hoped to have him back in six months, once the child was born.

On his turn, he was also sad for Charles' distance. The boy decided to no longer seek Kurt for chess, or even anything. He never felt lonelier in life before. In such a fucking huge house, he actually had only one person he still could talk to.

"Master Kurt?"

"Yes, Walter?" - he raised his gaze towards the elder butler.

"Was it really needed to send the boy into boarding school? Sure the Harvey School is distinguished and classy, but there is so much space here, they could perfectly be home schooled together."

"Good Walter, I am currently facing a situation where I cannot divest attention to more than one child at a time, so I chose to keep Charles home. I know I have disfavoured my own son. It may seem unfair, it probably is, but I don't have mental structure to deal with them both now. I'm sorry."

"I understand your lack of structuring, sir. Late master made everything seem so easy. I don't know how he did it."

"Neither do I. There will be private tutors coming by in the following days for interview. Please inform me when they arrive. I'm picking the best for Brian's boy."

"Certainly. Will you have lunch here?"

"Yes, please. If possible, roasted beef, no wine."

Walter nodded, leaving. Kurt sagged in place, his right forearm itching under the plaster, and throbbing of pain where it was broken, as his bladder screamed for release.

To add to his grave mood, there was the Sharon business. It would be easy enough to take her out of the Asylum, but Kurt would need the next six months alone in the manor to carry the child to therm, and it would be very uncomely to have Sharon around while he was looking like a beached whale. Not to mention explain the unexplainable.

So, without much option, knowing he had to keep her interested and at bay for at least six months, he tolk hold of Brian's typewriter, a few draft papers, and begun typing a letter to Sharon, one of many he intended to produce. 

Knowing how women's minds work, she would find the letters romantic and his own self caring and devoted into the old-fashioned sense. Little she knew he chose letters as means of communication because even at the brink of having the child, he would still be able to write.

As such, cracking the knuckles of his left hand, he adjusted the paper with some difficulty, and begun to type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt starts outlining his epistolar approach the old-fashioned way towards Sharon's heart.


	69. Epistolary love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon receives her first letter from Kurt.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Asylum, Sharon's room, New York City, 12th July 1938, Tuesday, middle of the night.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_New York, 28th June 1938, Tuesday._

_Dear M'm. S. Xavier._

_I expect to find you in good health and improving. It is most unfortunate I was unable to negotiate a reevaluation of your current condition with the family physician, so far. I assure you I am doing my best._

_I find he might be compromised by Brian's judgemental decision of locking you there. I am currently in search of a more reliable and impartial medic for you._

_Meanwhile, despite the adverse conditions, I find myself wondering how do you fare, fair Sharon. It is too lonely here at the manor. I have no wish to remain here except for my duty in tutoring Charles. Perhaps I would be sorely amenable to remain further if I had the company of someone as pleasant as you._

_Pray tell you are indeed fine, fair maiden._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Dr. Marko. PhD._

Sharon rolled her tumblr of absynth in her hands, contemplating the formal letter.

First, his unexpected kindness at the funeral, now this.

She was at a loss, judgement and empathy impaired by alcohol. She didn't know yet what to think. She would have to ask to her current spare brain.

"What do you think, Lisa?"

Lisa raised her head from the pillow, contemplating the awake and moderately drunk Sharon sitting on the left side of the bed, back resting on the headboard.

"It's a good letter. Looks like something a man with a stick up his ass would write. No offense."

"None taken" she sipped more. "He's a widower himself. So handsome, fit, hard chin..."

"He's a pansy."

Sharon widened her eyes.

"How can you say so? You never even met him. He's so tall!"

"Doesn't make him less pansy." She turned on her back, looking up at Sharon. "Not that it is any offense. Dear, I have... How is it the fairies call it... gaydar. Mine bleeped as soon as I read how he adressed you."

"Raydar?" she waved her hand dismissively "Never heard about it."

"So innocent. You're fresh meat on this market, doll. It's a cute look on you."

"Well, I'm replying him. It would be unpolite not to."

"Sure, honey, do reply. He took his time to write and seems to be taking care of your boy. I only hope for the kid he isn't a paedophile."

"Lisa!"

Lisa nodded, stealing a small sip of absynth. She had seen a couple of them, pansy and paedophiles, on the most unsuspecting places, specially catholic churches and priestdom. She wouldn't be surprised. Of one thing she was sure though. The man was a closet homosexual for sure and she could only hope, for the kid, that all he was after was a marriage of convenience.

Sharon on her side was at least intrigued, and just not believing a man so big and manly could even remotely be pansy. As soon as the day rose and Lisa left, she would set herself to type.

For now she had her hands full. In her mind it wasn't sex if it didn't involve a penis and penetration, so in her misconcepts, she also didn't count herself on the invert club (typical of her), which made in her mind her current association acceptable.

As such, letting the letter rest on the nightstand, gigglingly drunk, she turned to Lisa, capturing her into a french kiss, fantasizing all along with strong arms, hard chins and tall dark and handsome men like polite and proper Kurt.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Main Master Ensuite Bedroom, New York City, 12th July 1938, Tuesday, nearly sunrise.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It's been days but finally Kurt mustered the courage to move from the guest bedroom towards the old Master Bedroom previously belonging to Brian.

He occupied just a small fraction of the wardrobe, keeping the rest unaltered with Brian's belongings, multiple suits of various fashions, shoes, socks, belts, vafied cufflings and necktie pins, and even brochets meant to be pinned at those fancy ties mimicring a family jewel.

There were least three kinds of spectacle frames, from silvered to golden to one looking like made of ebon wood. Five models of wristwatches, with leather, silver and gold holdings. Three more pocket watches of different metal alloys rested on their respective watch holders. There was also a full cabin of car keys, and he counted eight, each belonging to a different kind of vehicle, including german, italian and british vehicles.

Not to mention a full collection of golden and silver male rings ranging from ruby to saphire to emerald, some signet rings with the Xavier wax signature, and even one thick silver band belonging to the time he had been merely engaged to Sharon.

He swallowed hard. For someone so rich, Brian certainly wasn't the slightest bit conceited. And that was from the perspective of a person who still had no idea on the amount of old money locked in trust funds that this family had.

No wonder Walter was worried about Sharon wasting the fortune away. For Kurt it would be impossible to spend everything in a single lifetime, even trying hard, but Sharon certainly knew how to spend. He had peeked at her bedroom and was scared about the fucking huge amount of manequinns and clothes, furcoats, shoes, and jewels and parfum and whatnots she had.

Peeking around the nursery, he made a mental note about everything, and concluded it also had literally everything, all the basics a baby might need.

In a sudden he thought he knew why and how the rich kept rich: by not throwing anything away, more or less like Brian and his freezer samples. They certainly didn't need to buy most of the things, if they looked around stuff just might be sitting on a room waiting to be used again.

Finally, rolling on his side at the king sized four poster bed with curtains that he had so many times shared with Brian, after walking around the manor like a zombie for most of the night, he closed his eyes, trying to let himself go to sleep, laying on his left side with Brian's favourite pillows pined under his plastered arm and right leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt settles at the main Master Bedroom.


	70. Sinister meeting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt wants to get out of home for a change, and muses about his life.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Main Master Bedroom, New York City, 29th July, Friday, late morning.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt was actually smiling for the first time in more than a month.

Not that life became any brighter or happier: seemingly however, someone decided to reply.

Smirking behind his plastered hand, holding the letter with his left one, he couldn't help feeling smug. Fair Sharon had bitten the bait.

The letter smelled like expensive parfum, wich meant she had taken time to spray it on the paper. She was aiming to leave a good impression. Her words were stiff and formal, so she was intending to sound like a proper widow.

Kurt knew though the real Sharon, the one that shamelessly gave herself to an old flame, but not to kind and loving Brian. He knew of her potential to throw herself to the darkest meanest fucker. He had to begin his game next letter. He had to make her bleed through the paper next time.

Some longing, some light insinuation, meaningless words here and there, and a good dose of fake devotion would do it. In a couple of days he would sit to write the letter. These things were always best left to write themselves in inspired moments.

Walking to the bathroom, he eyed himself at the mirror, moving his face right and left, checking on his straight profile and his one day stubble, squinting his eyes and doing his best 'suitor' expression, beaming a small wicked smile, foaming his face to make a full shave.

Moving the straight razorblade with his left hand on his cheeks, he pondered he would derive the utmost pleasure from this pursuit: the pleasure of throughfully ruining her heart, making her fall so deeply, and completely, that she would be desperate to give herself wholy to him.

Motioning now through his jawline, chin and neck, once he was done with his philtrum and upper lips, and both sideburns, he considered his job done, cleaning his face with a wet cloth, admiring his now smooth skin.

Combing his hair with his left hand, slicked back, he winked to the mirror, cursing the plaster. Were he out of it, he would even consider taking the chrysler for a stroll, maybe finding a movie theatre, even dining out. He would be coped up enough once his condition became more obvious, so he would better seize some of it now.

Even Brian had blessed him through the will from his grave. He certainly wasn't commiting any crime in willing to see the sights, just the sights, damn it.

Even though Brian clearly labelled himself pansexual, (under the argument that robots were genderless and that sometimes Kurt himself even acted like a robot, so...), on his own side Kurt wasn't so sure.

He had been having heterosexual contact that could pass like sex for seven years with his late wife, and then he had real sex and Brian, and it was amazing, and now he had nothing, not even his hand. 

He shook his head, smiling sadly this time. If anything, Kurt had the strongest suspicion the best label to himself would be Briansexual.

He would laugh at his silliness if it weren't somehow tragic. A man his age and physical build and looks was worse off than most teenagers this time and age, and finding contentment in revenging his lost love.

It would be a good book, if it weren't his life.

Not that he were in any kind of competition. He was just a fish out of water, a team out of league. Too old for hanging around. Too young to resigning to chess games at the park. Too gay for a wife. Too emotionally stunted and not bold enough to do more than see sights.

He mused he was the perfect age and state to be home with his 'husband', and that he missed sorely Brian.

Not to mention he was soon to become a mother, or father, or something like this. His life was a fucking mess. Someone with a rather wicked sense of humour certainly was having fun at his expenses on a lower plane of existence.

He pondered for a second that this was probably how villains were born, out of contempt, despair, depression and abandonment.

Was he fated to become a villain? Would someone one day recognise his efforts at not allowing Sharon to come out clean? Would anyone ever know the full extent of his self-sacrifice?

Would Charles or Cain ever forgive him?

He sagged in the closest armchair, taking a pencil and scratching under the plaster. Fucking plaster. Fucking heat. He hated the warmer months when he couldn't take a proper bath or even swim, like now with the plaster.

For a fleeting second he asked himself how the upper staff of the Black Womb project were faring. None sent a single letter of condolences to the manor upon Brian's passing. Were they so disposable to not even be contacted?

He sure wouldn't mind getting a simple phone call, even from Irene. Anyone more or less his age with whom he could talk or at least wish dead was good enough already.

*RIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!*

Startling awake, he caught the phone immediately. Xavier-Marko hous... No, that's not right.

"Xavier Manor, Dr. Marko speaking."

"Hello! How are you doing, lucky survivor??"

Fucking crap.

"Dr. Mildbury. What do I owe this phone call."

"What a coincidence, I call to wish Brian's widow condolences and I locate you, Kurt!"

"Amazing coincidence indeed." He held the phone handle between his face and his left shoulder, taking the pencil again, to scratch under the plaster "If you wish to reach Sharon Xavier, you will have to request special permit to Salem's Women Mental Asylum. I am here designated as Dr. Xavier's tutor of choice for his son, Charles Xavier, Dr. Nathan Mildbury."

"Oh, you can call me Nate, we aren't working together anymore, we can even be friendly."

"I was wondering if I would ever be made aware of my contract termination or if the fact the facilities blew up was enough of a warning, _Dr. Mildbury._."

"My, you are an unyielding one, so proper and stiff. I like it. I will be on New York for the week, would you come to lunch with me one of these days?"

Kurt pondered for a while. Lunch in a very public place with lots of people should be enough to inhibit Dr. Nathan's hands. Besides, he had to be somewhat diplomatic. He never knew if he would or not need the medic to aid the delivery.

"I'm always proper and stiff, Dr. Nathan. And well, I can't see why not. Lunch it is then."

"Excellent! I'll get there midday today."

What? Today? Now???

The phone then rang off. He looked at the clock. Nearly midday. Cursing, he rushed to get ready.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Xavier Manor, Main Room, New York City, 29th July, Friday, midday.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lunching out, Master Kurt?"

Kurt nodded to Walter, being aided into dressing the waistcoat.

"Dr. Mildbury was mine and Brian's previous joined contractor, alongside Irene Adler and Amanda Mueller."

This time Walter nodded, finally placing Kurt's coat over his shoulders, once the sling held his right forearm in place.

"I imagine you may be seeking a new contract? Master Brian said he worked for fun and to keep in touch with his friend - meaning you, master."

Kurt lowered his gaze, blushing, as they walked to the main family room of the manor.

"Considering mental idleness makes me ill, certainly seeking to retain some scientific enlightment won't hurt. Not that I plan to be so far away like in New Mexico, ever again. I now have Charles to look after. I'm a responsible man."

On cue, the boy darted out of the corner of the main room, as soon as they got in. Kurt shook his head.

"If he still liked me it would be better, of course."

Sitting on an armchair, Kurt checked the hour on the pocket watch. Fifteen past midday. Where was this obnoxious self-invited insane med...

"Hello there!!!"

The man practically invaded the house, the valet trailing behind him and telling him to hand him his coat, being throughfully ignored.

"Kurty boy, you don't look like you aged a single year!"

Walter raised one eyebrow. Kurt kept a collected vulcan face.

"Dr. Mildbury. I recall we last met at Alamogordo during the office reunion with Dr. Xavier and Irene, not longer than two months ago. I could hardly age an year."

Dr. Nathan waved dismissively.

"You're still glowing, lad!"

Kurt choked on air, as Walter actually rolled his eyes, excusing himself off the room. Kurt almost trailed after him, demanding not to be left alone, already regretting agreeing to lunch, when he was stopped by Dr. Nathan's hand on his right shoulder.

"I hear there is this lovely italian restaurant midtown. I rent a car. I'll bring you back here later, since you cannot drive on your current condition. Shall we?"

Kurt facepalmed, leaving the house. He only hoped the condition he refered to was the plastered arm.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Xavier Manor, Main Room, New York City, 29th July, Friday, late evening.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting home hours later, already night, making sure Dr. Mildbury kept outside the ironwrought gates within his rent car and sulking, hiding the stupid single rose (he got gifted one at the italian restaurant!) at the rose bush by the main door, and avoiding being kissed at the car, not to mention many times swatting Dr. Nathan's hands off him through the day (being in public didn't dissuade the bastard!), the only thing Kurt knew he had succeeded at was keeping his former employer very much intested and hooked up on him, still.

Forget summoning him for aide in childbirth: Kurt decided to have it absolutely on his own, even if it killed him. No potencial C-section was worth THAT.

What a trap, he thought up, shaking his head. He was never having lunch-turned-dinner or anything at all with that creep again. He barely avoided the will to hit his plastered arm right through the other man's face, if anything, because his arm was still recovering and would hurt like hell.

As if reading his thoughts, Walter received him, taking his coat.

"I wager your former employer wasn't after the same things you were, Master Kurt."

"You wager right. In my innocence I believed he might really want to talk about something scientific for a change. In thinking lunch was supposed to be civil and formal. And public."

Walter actually smiled, shaking his head.

"No wonder master Brian never had these troubles. He would have smelled that from kilometres afar."

The perks of telepathy AND experience, thought Kurt, sighing.

"From now on I'm never available, not even on the phone for Dr. Mildbury. I don't even want my last pay. I feel dirty, and nothing even happened, thanks God! Goodnight, Walter."

"Goodnight, Master Kurt."

Walter nodded on Kurt's leave, then shook his head again, going to the kitchens.

Dismissing the cook and her helper for the day, the butler resumed his daily routine, according to Brian's written orders, to be carried on no matter what happened.

Taking hold of two litres of whole milk, one dozen eggs, twenty units of walnuts, twenty units of cashew nuts and twenty units of brazil nuts, plus 200ml of corn cooking oil and one kilogramme of refined sugar, he proceeded opening two sets of tubes on the kitchen, labelled 'organic waste' but kept throughfully locked.

Only Walter had this key. He didn't know exactly what the tubes were for, but it was a written order in Brian's personal will, in exchange for a small but through pension from one of his trust funds.

Walter would have done it for free, but was content for being recognised as a valuable houseservant and friend. As such, as long as he lived, he would feed these lines. No one told him, but he had a feeling that this had to do with the three separate 'reforms' Brian ordered done at the basement, and the freezers and lab equiment that had been sent into the not-so-secret underground lab.

As Brian clearly stated in written word, in the event of his demise, Kurt would be probably taking bad decisions for a long while, maybe even for the rest of his life, and would be just generally too busy with other matters to remember feeding the lines. 

Allerted by this, Walter decided to go easy on Master Kurt. Brian proved correct many times over the last years, and Kurt wasn't a bad man, merely misguided. Which was why he didn't advise him against having the clearly bad experience of today. The lad needed to learn, even if by shock.

Master Brian also stated that the interior of the reformed underbasement was off-limits to the household and the whole family, except for Kurt, and that in the event of them both ending up dead, Walter was supposed to lock-seal the whole floor and put the key under the doors.

Finishing to feed the lines, hearing the distant whirring noise from within the tubes, Walter lock-sealed them back, remembering Brian made it clear that no matter what, peanuts should never be fed into the lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt receives a bad call, takes a bad decision and gets stalked by Dr. Nathan Mildbury.


	71. Where are you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt has the plaster removed and gets his last taste of city life.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Dr. Irving McCoy's Office, Westchester County, New York City, 10th August 1938, Wednesday morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt awoke feeling miserable, pain in places he didn't even know he had. Hopefully at least half the discomfort would go away today: it's been two months since the accident, and finally it's the day to remove the plaster.

He knew he could no longer call Dr. Chandra home, so he settled an appointment with a new doctor in downtown, one without attachments to the Xaviers.

Unwilling to connect the Xavier Manor to himself, he left on a rent car towards the appointment, getting there by 1400h, waiting to be called at the clinic's main room with the vapid secretary on her thirties, obviously single but at the brink of no longer being of marriageable age, who couldn't stop looking at him.

"I'm sorry for the indiscretion, but how did you break it, sir?"

"I fell." He lied, dryly.

"It must hurt."

"Really." He sighed. He lost all patience for small talk with women. Hopefully most men shunned women for companion except for proclivities, which meant his behaviour didn't really call for attention.

"How did you fell?"

Kurt actually growled, low. That question smelled like "Are you single?" to him.

"Sorry for being blunt, madam, but I already have a fianceé."

The woman feigned feeling insulted, excusing herself and diving her nose back at some stupid romance book. Followingly, the doctor's door opened up and a male voice called his name.

\---

Once inside the office, he was greeted by a man by his late fourties, greying by his temples, big wedding band in his left hand, photos of children and grandchildren spread on his desk.

"Welcome to my office, I'm Dr. Irving McCoy, and you must be Kurt Marko. What do I owe your appointment?"

Kurt explained briefly about his work accident, the broken wrist, and that the two months for removal of the plaster were due. Dr. Irving nodded all along, directing him to X-ray, where the technician awaited.

Looking around the X-ray room, Kurt, very aware of the effect excessive x-rays could have on the unborn foetus, set his eyes on a lead coat hanging on a wall. Without requesting permission, he took hold of it, fastening it around his trunk and midsection.

Once the technician was back, he spoke.

"Oh, sir, it's not needed, that's for pregnant women."

Kurt sighed. Yes, he knew.

"I'm sorry young man, but I already face enough radiation in my line of work, and if I still wish to father any children in the future I better wear it." A half lie.

"Oh, are you an x-ray technician as well?"

"Nuclear Physics PhD and Atomic Researcher."

The technician shut up, motioning for him to place his forearm for x-raying.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Department Store, New York City, 10th August 1938, Wednesday, later in morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Leaving the Clinic with his arm out of the plaster, for the first time in months moving his right wrist and fully flexing his fingers, Kurt took his time for a stroll around the the town while he still could. He was at the brink of no longer leaving home, but still looking like a slightly potbellied academic, so he felt safe exposing himself for now.

Entering a Babies' department store, he felt a bad pang in his chest. The place was full of happy couples with very pregnant ladies filling their carts of maternity items.

In another lifetime, it was the kind of place he would have hit with Brian.

For a second he considered stepping out and leaving, but was trapped before he could do.

"Good afternoon, sir, may I help you?"

The salesman beamed behind a smile, his red bowtie matching his red trousers and suspenders, contrasting with his white shirt.

"My sister is pregnant and I would like to surprise her with a small gift. She has all the basics already." Another lie.

"Certainly, sir, follow me."

The salesman showed him practically all the store, and Kurt concluded he was right: the Xavier manor had indeed everything a baby would need, even an assortment of feeding bottles, and bottle cleaners.

He blinked twice then. It had everything for a boy. What if it was a girl? Genetically it was possible.

Looking at the toys, he locked his eyes on a doll the size of a real life newborn baby, head, arms and legs made of composition, hazel-brown sleeping eyes with fine lashes that closed when the doll was on her back, and opened when she was out standing, and a body made of cloth and felt, as soft as a real baby. On its head, a set of short and soft jet black hair, with a blue ribbon on a lock, sporting a fair baptism dress.

He only realised he was looking at the doll for a full minute because the salesman called him on it.

"Lifelike perfect, isn't it?"

Kurt was breathless. The doll was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Usually mothers prefer the dolls to be blond and blue eyed, so this one didn't sell. I can get you one of the blond ones."

"No!" He almost screamed, and three couples looked at him. He fleeted his glance between them. "This doll is just perfect. Just like this. It even looks like her. Wrap it as a gift."

"What do I call the mother?"

"Melanie. Melanie Darkholme-Marko."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, main room, New York City, 10th August 1938, Wednesday, afternoon.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Getting home later with the package, Kurt was suspiciously eyed by a very young telepath wearing an unreadable expression, who for a change instead of running from him, decided to come closer.

"Where are you?"

Kurt widened his eyes for being adressed for the first time in months.

"Here in the main room with you, why ask questions to which you already know the answers?"

"No, you aren't. You aren't anywhere. But your invisible friend is."

Fuck. Again that 'invisible friend' thing. Kurt took his time processing this information, actually clutching the package in hands.

"Is she inside it?"

Charles pointed to the package where the doll was. Kurt rolled his thoughts in his mind.

"She... who?"

"Your invisible friend. You are always walking around with her."

Kurt rolled his tongue in his mouth, slowly, pondering on the phrase. Like a perfect puzzle, the pieces fell in place, finally clicking, and he widened his eyes, actually stepping once back.

It couldn't be.

Somehow, somehow, this shouldn't surprise him. Afterall, like father, like son. He couldn't believe his eyes and ears, and for the first time he understood Brian's fear of having their minds pried on by other telepaths: they seemed to be a totally nosy bunch, with no respect for mind privacy.

Charles was for sure picking the half-thoughts of the embryo he was carrying: and most certainly, he was prodding (but failing) at reading his telepathy-shielded mind, throughfully nulled for his own skills by his own daddy, dearest late Brian.

Whirring this new piece of info in his mind, Kurt blinked, cracking his neck to both sides.

"You caught me, Charles." He sat on the sofa, resting both elbows on his knees, locking his hands together. "You indeed caught me."

The boy, nearly six years old now, raised one eyebrow, slowly approaching, untrusting.

"Can we make of it a secret just between us? Most adults wouldn't understand that I have an invisible friend."

Slowly, Charles came even closer. Kurt combed his own hair with his right hand, looking right into the topaz blue eyes.

"But why do you need an invisible friend?"

"I may not make sense, but know that I feel awfully lonely, and my friend here is my only comfort so far. I sincerely hope you understand."

Tentatively, he touched the kid's hair, ruffling it lightly once, as Charles recoiled. Kurt sighed, shaking his head and excusing himself, saying he needed to sleep.

Left alone in the main room, Charles stared at where Kurt left, remembering that first his mother was gone, then his dad was gone, and now Cain was gone too. Kurt made both Charles and himself lonely, and Charles hated him for that.

Specially now that he seemed to be able to keep the invisible friend only to himself.

Squinting his eyes, Charles swore that one day that friend would be his special little friend girl.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Main Master Bedroom, New York City, 10th August 1938, Wednesday, evening.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hand free from the plaster, Kurt opened the doll package, staring once again at the lovely toy. From what he knew of genetics, unless he was crammed up with recessive genes, this would be most similar to the look his child might have.

Placing the doll beautifully on the bed, he contemplated it, recalling the doll he stole from his sister after she died. Sighing sadly, he pondered that it took him 26 fucking years since her death, to have the courage to actually buy one doll for himself, and it had been so damn easy.

He felt slightly proud of himself for this, and then immediatelly snorted. He was about to get a real 'doll' in a few months. He was acting like a fucking teenager girl, collecting her newest obsession trinkets.

Pondering the doll would be a beautiful addition to the nursery anyway, when he could bring the child up and claim its adoption, he actually recalled he now could move his right arm back, and out of habit scratched the skin where the plaster had been. He had dead skin to shed, and a long immersion bath was certainly on its way.

Once inside the tub, he pondered a bit on life, as he absently sponged the skin that was previously under the plaster. He hated talking Charles away, but he couldn't just plainly tell him the real situation.

He sure wasn't lying when he said he was lonely. Which was just one another subject not available for discussion between them.

It was difficult being a responsible parent already. Envying the boy's apparent telepathic ability, Kurt shook his head. A lad that intelligent and gifted shouldn't roam the manor without anything to do most of the day, it certaintly would make him even more curious about the 'invisible friend'. 

It was about time to increase the intensity and frequency of Charles' classes. Violin, piano, latin, french, math and english language, these were just in for a start, and apparently weren't enough for the early genius. Kurt would certainly need to incorporate more lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles gets too nosy and will need to have his mind kept busy.


	72. Time to retreat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt introduces Charles to new activities, and Sharon gets her second letter.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, manor grounds, New York City, 30th August, Tuesday morning.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt observed amused from the distance as the horse riding instructor thaught Charles how to come up the english saddle, and the boy actually clutch his hands to the body of the saddle, locking himself up the throughbred horse, visibly stressed. The horse didn't respond to mind-reading and any attempt at control.

"Way to go, my boy, proper englishmen learn to ride their horses at a young age, you are having the chance I never had!"

"I'll fall!"

"Nonsense, this is a very tame mare, our good girl Elba. Besides, I'm here in case you fall."

"You didn't save dad, why would you save me?"

The horse ran away and Charles, clutched to the saddle, left altogether, screaming, as the instructor rode after him. Kurt, digesting the boy's spite, watching them distance, shook his head, seizing he was alone to grumble about doing his best and it being never enough, as usual in his life.

At least he had his carefully plotted revenge, he mused, snickering at the fact his recently typed, waxed and sent letter, destined for one Sharon Schmidt Xavier, was due to arrive to his object of obsession today.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Asylum, Main Patio, New York City, 30th August, Tuesday morning.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sitting on a wooden bench under a grapevine arch, wearing a mix of inpatient clothes, a fancy black hat with a tiny veil, sunglasses to hide her drink-shot eyes, and a heavy expression in face, Sharon stood to attention as Lisa approached, mail in hands.

"Look at who is getting mail today." She sat besides Sharon. "Would it be your not-so-secret admirer?"

Sharon caught the mail in hands, shaking her head.

"Anyone hearing you might even think you are jealous, Lisa."

"Moi? Jealous of a _colleague_? I wouldn't dream. Open it, I'm curious!"

Sharon smirked, ripping the letter open, getting to the folded and waxed inside. Immediatelly her nostrils were hit with a tasteful, mouthwatering, lightly musky, ambered wooden scent, probably cedarwood, and she couldn't help inhaling deeper and closing her eyes for a second.

Taking sight of the contents, she smiled.

_New York, 18th August 1938, Tuesday._

_Good day, dear._

_Today I awoke thinking of you. I know, it's unexpected for me too. Perhaps it is your lingering presence in this house, perhaps it's the memory of our first and only meeting._

_Perhaps it is the memory of my lips on your skin._

_Since seeing you I had my eyes and mind in no other. I found myself captured by your blond locks, saphire eyes and petite disposition, graceful and proper. I discovered my heart misses you._

_I know I am being foolish and that what I feel is probably unrequited. As such, I apologise for my boldness. You are too early in grief for new attachments, I wager._

_The memory of you under my arm as we grieved still comforts me._

_Yours in mind and heart,_

_K. Marko._

"I'm touched. No, seriously, touched. Pansy boy almost convinced me."

Sharon couldn't help flushing up to her ears, as she replied that he wasn't pansy, merely polite and proper, approaching the letter from her nostrils and inhaling once, remembering his strong grip, the soft kiss in her hand, and memorising his scent, recalling how fit and built like a percheron horse Kurt actually was.

She was most definitely replying later, at a more private moment.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Main Master Bedroom, New York City, 30th August, Tuesday afternoon.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Looking at his own body profile on the mirror, right after he left Charles to the riding tutor, Kurt concluded it was past time to start making himself scarce around the manor. 

He couldn't know for sure, specially because he was too tall to show properly, and the measurements might not apply to his size and build, but according to tape measurements around his navel through his midsection, he was probably with more or less 30 weeks, which left him about to ten weeks to go.

He had been hiding behind robes and trenchcoats, but his success in hiding had been mostly depending on the fact no one actually expected there to be anything but blubber. Certainly a pregnancy was out of people's minds, but Kurt feared attracting unwanted attention, since he couldn't make anyone forget.

Not to mention his current new worry: Charles.

The boy had been very busy with a myriad of classes these last weeks, but occasionally Kurt saw him sneaking from behind bookcases, staircases, doors, and furniture, certainly after the 'invisible friend'. He feared the lad slipping anything to the housestaff, and the first moment any doctor came close and touched his stomach and felt a kick, it would be his undoing.

Hell, even Kurt, an amateur, could by now detect visible foetal movement specially during the night, and he would dare say, he had been a number of times painfully kicked in the kidneys and liver and he was sure his bladder had become a punching bag. Certainly the kid had strong legs and arms, and a mean sense of humour.

Not to mention he actually took hold of Brian's father old Bowles Stethoscope, and guided by a book on obstetrics, managed to locate the foetal heartbeat on the right side of his stomach, which brought him to convulsive tears.

As such, as obvious as the situation was, he excused himself from any social contact for the foreseeable future, keeping the rest of the day locked up on the master bedroom, planning and making a personal selection of items to migrate downstairs to the underground lab.

At midnight, properly robed in case someone decided to zombie around, he started moving. Since the objects were more volumous than heavy, he made sure to fit them into a pair of suitcases filled to the brink of breaking, easily lifting both and wondering how many travels down he would need to make.

First the pillows, then the blankets, covers, spare and comfortable clothes, socks, slippers and towels, he fit them into the mostly empty lab cabins, where he and Brian hadn't had the time to fill up with glassware, which were still on their boxes, locked on the corner of the lab.

Pondering on the distribution of furniture, he decided to dismount one of the guestroom beds of the first floor and bring only the mattress and its support down, piece by piece there. It would be a temporary bed, that had to sit not much low on the ground, but high enough to be still comfortable getting in and out of.

Taking tools with himself and a towcart, he entered the last guestroom on the hall, removing the white sheets from the furniture and finally getting to the wooden bed, starting to unscrew it.

The whole endeavour took him the rest of the night. He was glad for the first time in life for being strong enough not to need anyone to help moving everything down. 

Once it was over though, he had the square frame of the bed, matress and support on a corner, a dozen pillows fitting by the walls and wrapped in soft blankets. Besides it (piled up one over the other), all of Brian's father medical books and his stethoscope, a notebook, pencils and pens. On the other corner, at the other free side of the bed, there was one nightstand with a nightlamp, and a land line on it, for making urgent calls.

Seizing one of the freezers was absolutely empty and brand new, uncontaminated by samples or anything, he stole powder milk from the kitchen, a couple of milk heating pans, some utensils, soap bars, washcloths, making a makeshift kitchen setting two bunsen burners as milk-warming 'stove'.

For a fleeting second he cleaned his forehead, having broken sweat not for effort, but for stressing. He was having to think everything up alone, no one to back him, anyway, and the best help he expected to have would be by Walter NOT coming down nor letting anyone come down, and for him to keep delivering food down and taking dishes up, without questions.

He wondered how he would convince Walter to do this all without any questions. The butler was loyal but HE, Kurt, wasn't Brian.

As such, sighing, wondering he still had to bring the typewriter and other smaller personal items down, he checked on the black robe fastened around his stomach, and before sunrise came, walked to the servant's ward, knocking once politely at Walter's door. This had to be spoken and solved at once.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, house help dependences, New York City, 31th August, wednesday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walter opened his eyes startled. No one uses to come to his door, and he was usually summoned by phone.

Rubbing his eyes, the sexagenarian butler stood up, fastening his own sober robe, and heading to the door.

"Who it would be, I beg your pardon?"

Outside the door, Kurt whispered it was him. After a second too long, the door was open wide, and Walter had a scared stare.

"Is anything wrong, Master? What would be so grave Master could't request by phone?"

Kurt fleeted a glance, asking if he could keep a life-endangering secret, and if they two could speak privately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt decides it's time to go down the lab for the next months.


	73. Down Under.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt convinces Walter he needs isolation to make nuclear experiments.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, house help dependences, New York City, 31th August, wednesday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As both men sat in silence at the kitchen, still before dawn and the house help would be up, the kitchen dutifully locked, Kurt rotated his cup of tea in hands as Walter moved the spoon on his own.

"Am I allowed to speak freely, Master?"

"You shouldn't even need to ask, but yes, of course."

Walter sighed.

"So the not-so-secret underground lab is actually an underground lab."

Kurt nodded.

"And you and Master Brian furnished it intent in making nuclear experiments."

Kurt nodded further.

"And you are going to start nuclear experiments now."

"Yes, and obviously you can understand WHY no one must know what I'm doing down there."

Walter nodded. In his knowledge, nuclear=dangerous.

"And, if master allows me asking, you shall have to spend days downstairs, and will not be able to leave the lab for months to come."

Kurt nodded, having a full gulp of tea. Walter continued.

"Afterall, you wouldn't want to risk contaminating the rest of the manor."

"Precisely." Oh, so many lies.

Walter took a full minute thinking, then nodded.

"Very well, master Kurt. I understand the need scientists have for secrecy. The eternal fear of people stealing your projects, and everything. I will collaborate in whatever I can, with one single condition."

Kurt nodded, standing up relieved, and at the same time wondering no one did anything for free.

"What would it be, good Walter?"

"I always appreciated Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and such medical novels, sir. Once everything is over and you can tell what the experiment is about, I would be honoured to be the first to know."

Kurt pursed his lips, nodding, extending his right hand to shake Walter's.

"As soon as the whole thing is over and I can show you the results safely, you will be one of the first people I'll show to. You have my word."

Both shook hands, as Walter smiled.

"Very well sir, be safe, I will get food and supplies to you downstairs during your reclusive experiment, and I'll make sure Charles won't slip down. Just don't bring the manor down on fire, much less let the radiation slip, please, master Kurt."

Kurt smiled back, finally combing his hair with the right hand, as Walter put the two cups on the sink. Excusing himself, the taller man once more thanked the butler profusely for the aid and his silence, and added he would be down the lab.

Once down there, getting ready to sleep, since he was the whole night up, he actually turned the ventilation system on to ensure fresh air to the place, turned the lights off except for a dimming light at the center of the room, finally nested on the pillows and blankets downstairs, and closed his eyes, drifting into sleep.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Caspartina, engineering room, North Sea, 31th August, wednesday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Irene awoke annoyed. Since the day of the explosion in Alamogordo, her mind had been in a blurr.

She could recall nearly nothing of her memories. He had no idea why she couldn't remember. She had even less idea on why she was strapped to an operating table, with a giant light hovering over herself.

Activating her mind sight, since she was legally blind, she could see within seconds a rather known figure was about to...

"Hello, dear stepdaughter."

Klaus Schmidt. That one she knew well.

"I would like you to meet Emma. Do you remember her?"

Emma approached the strapped Irene, a smirk in face. Irene squinted.

"Sorry, I never saw her before."

Klaus Schmidt snapped his fingers, as Emma prodded painfully on Irene's mind, and she screamed.

"She's telling the truth." Emma scowled "There is almost nothing in her about the latest years. Her memory wipe was practically complete until about to 40 years ago."

Growling, Klaus Schmidt punched a nearby desk.

"She keeps written diaries with her predictions. We only need to access them."

"The diaries were in Alamogordo. I'm afraid they are gone." Emma continued. Irene winced at the icicles filling her mind. "It was from where the pods came from, so she was the responsible for the mutant research facility from where Magda, the dark queen and I came."

Klaus raised his hand to Emma.

"Don't kill her yet. What I would like to know is WHO wiped your mind, Irene."

Irene had a confused face. She didn't know what he was talking about.

"No one did." Supplied Emma. "She literally drank herself to forgetfulness. It is her last supressed memory before the wipe."

Klaus, gritting his teeth, actually approached Irene's face.

"You, YOU erased yourself? Fourty years?? What were you willing to HIDE?"

What was he talking about???

"FUCK IT!!!" He touched his index on her forehead, making a jerking motion, as she motioned down the operating table, shattering the ground and falling into unconsciousness. "You are useless until I can recall your memories!"

Glaring with contempt, Klaus Schmidt spat once at Irene's eyes, then turned to the blond woman by his side.

"EMMA! Ready the empty cocoon pod numbered 06. I'm afraid we are going to cryo-freeze Irene until we both find a way of un-erasing her memory banks and discovering what horrible truth she erased from her own mind!"

Smirking with an evil gleam, Emma rubbed both hands together, placing them by Irene's temples, finishing the mind-seal that will prevent her of awaking while pod-frozen. She was finding life more and more amusing at Herr Doktorr's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene gets captured by Klaus Schmidt.


	74. Poor little telepath.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt plays the waiting game with Sharon once again.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Underground Lab, New York City, 16th September, friday, early afternoon.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The phone rang, awaking Kurt in what he thought was the middle of the night. Answering it, he found out it had been already past midday.

"Master Kurt, a letter, clean clothes and the light meal are placed outside the door to the lab."

Grumbling a thank you, he placed the phone back at the holder, cracking his neck and groaning at the sudden momentous kick in his liver, cursing the child once, being unable to stand up for a couple of minutes while catching his breath.

He pondered for a second if she (considering Charles is right, it is a girl) would be excessively strong and agile like himself. It sure looked like it. Finally standing up, by now officially looking like he swallowed a watermelon, sporting a few stretch scars by his sides, and the darkening of the navel line, he snorted, for the first time understanding why his late wife complained so much on the marks. They itch, nearly painful.

Robing himself, he opened the lab door, fleeting a glance right and left, then taking the tray inside, and the bag of clothes. Almost immediatelly, he sent other clothes out, and the dirty dishes, locking himself back.

Finally getting to the food, he devoured the cheese and assorted nuts, paying little atrention to the bread. He had been reading the obstetrics book and found out what the so called cravings are, and realised they reflect micronutrient failures in feeding that the embryo needs supplied. As such, he indulged them, sadly remembering the last time Brian brought him the five packages and he joked about five not being enough of a stock.

If he could come back in time, he would have made so many things differently. Unfortunately, time travel isn't an option, and he resigned himself to his present and future, finally licking his fingers off the salt and cleaning his hands with a wet cloth, drying them and taking the letter in hands.

He snickered at the even more intense parfum, loathing its excessively sweet smell. After reading and re-reading it, he sighed, closing his eyes and resting against the nest of pillows.

It was being too damn easy. Sharon isn't even trying to conceal the fact it's been merely three months that she was widowed. Kurt was more of a 'widow' than her. She was having too big expectations.

The better. The bigger the step, the bigger the fall. If he didn't know that he was supposed to keep his cool and distance all the while looking like romantically troubled by doubts and overwhelming feelings, he would surely write the next response today.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, upstairs, New York City, 16th September, friday, early afternoon.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Charles somehow adorably fumed and scowled as he entered the estate, shooting daggers behind his topaz eyes, dressed in mud-filled fancy horse riding attire.

Even though he was almost six years old, he was certainly precocious and articulate, and knew very well what he didn't like.

"I hate horses!"

"Young master, good afternoon too."

"That stupid horse hates me. Kurt hates me."

Walter pursed his lips.

"That's not true, young master."

"He put me to have all these classes!!"

"It means you are growing, master. Every one needs to study at some point in life."

"Father never made me study! Mother never made me study! I want to play. I want Cain back!"

Walter sighed. Charles pouted.

"Sorry, young master. Shall we remove these muddy clothes and get ready for the piano classes of this evening?"

"No, I don't _want_ to go."

Walter stopped mute and glassy eyed for a fleeting second, then shook his head, and nodded.

"Very well, young master. I will communicate master Kurt you don't want to go."

Charles sighed. He knew very well what happened every time Kurt knew he didn't want to do something. Opposite to everybody else, who just agreeded and left him get away, Kurt was unmoved and just plainly would speak in his ears until he had to give up.

As such, knowing the outcome, and willing to spare himself, he stood to attention.

"Fine, I'm going. But I want a good dessert tonight!"

"Certainly, young master."

Walter sighed, glad Kurt apparently inspired some authority on the boy, unlike Brian, who was slightly too permissive, always letting the boys do anything they wanted. As if on cue, Charles almost growled, and finally stomped out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles had rarely been contrariated on his wishes before Kurt took rule of his life, and he is certainly loathing it.


	75. Going away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hitler advances further into the creation of the Germanic Dream.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Munich, Greater Germany, 30th September 1938, Friday, late evening.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Following lengthy negotiations and blatant war threats from Hitler, dutifully guided by Herr Klaus Schmidt, the British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain joined with French leaders to try to get into a solution for the impasse.

Against their best ponderings, for reasons they couldn't fathom, they decided to try to appease to Hitler's demands. Little they knew Herr Klaus and Emma were behind everything.

As such, at the Munich Agreement of September 30, 1938, the major European powers allowed German troops to occupy the Sudetenland, for the sake of "peace for our time". Czechoslovakia had already mobilized over one million men and was prepared to fight for independence, but was not allowed to participate in the conference. 

When the French and British negotiators informed the Czechoslovak representatives about the agreement, and that if Czechoslovakia would not accept it, France and Britain would consider Czechoslovakia to be responsible for the next war, President Edvard Beneš capitulated. 

Thus, German forces entered the Sudetenland unopposed, celebrated by the local ethnic German population, and Herr Klaus smirked with his newest arm candy, the young and barely legal Emma Frost, whilst his previous Dark Queen remained with Magda, both grounded at the Caspartina for their immature behaviour.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Caspartina, Docks, 30th September 1938, Friday, late evening.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"But where are we going?"

The dark queen just put her right hand index on her lips, making a 'shush' motion, as Magda shut up. She had grown tired of being compared to Emma, and of being considered unitelligent.

Not to mention she was shit scared of being pod-frozen back, once she saw how Klaus Schmidt treated his captive Irene, supposedly his own stepdaughter.

Knowing there were still two empty pods, and that Klaus Schmidt was currently hating Magda and herself, she knew what her next step should be.

She was very aware that her mind couldn't be tracked in beast mode. It was with utmost pleasure that she would keep most of the day lounging like a cat and pretending to be asleep, while Emma visibly fumed, squinting eyes at her, until she would give up and stomp out of the room. Moody telepaths.

Magda however was another issue. She had no idea on how the kid would shield herself or prevent tracking by Emma once they escaped. She was relying on distance, and on Schmidt's lack of interest in her, to ensure their success.

As such, she concluded tonight would be the night. Clad not in minimal lingerie for a change, but on sturdy black masculine overalls, black work boots and a black hat hiding her hair and features, her neck scar visible, no make up except for some black paint on her cheeks, she climbed the stairway up from the submarine levels to the upper deck of the Caspartina, little Magda in tow also dressed like a boy.

Finally leaving the ship with the girl, she looked behind, shaking her head. Before Magda could ask anything else, she looked around, finding the dock blissfully empty, smiling. She wouldn't need to kill before the kid, to cover their tracks for now.

Focusing and closing her eyes, she crouched on the ground, slowly rising like a shadow, just to finally stand on its hindlegs, rearing up, resting on its fours as an unsaddled all black mare.

Motioning its head to the small girl, the black horse hit its front legs on the ground once, actually kneeling down to lower itself, as the hesitant girl came close, finally managing to fit on the dark queen's back, who slowly lifted off the ground, finally darting away in the night.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Asylum, Sharon's room, 30th September 1938, Friday, almost midnight.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_New York, 28th September 1938,_

_Hi, dearest._

_I hope you miss me as much as I miss you. Words cannot describe my happiness in getting your response, and a positive one to date._

_I couldn't fathom you would even remotely feel anything for me than (I hoped) respect. To learn I inspire longing is indeed good news._

_I wished we could be together to celebrate. I confess I wished to court you properly as befits to people of our age and marital status. You deserve slow car strolls, fine dinners, flowers, walks under the moonlight, an evening at the opera, a theatre night._

_You deserve so much more than I could ever give you. I am aware I am not rich, but I would do everything in my hands to provide for moral and physical comforts._

_I have yet to arrange for permission for our visitations. Your late husband's lawyers were very through and wrapped up against social contact from your part, and it has been a struggle to win this battle over._

_I like to believe though I am your knight in white armour and that I shall be the one to remove you from the claws of the system, my princess, you shall be relieved off your imprisoning tower, and I shall bring you back to your castle, beloved._

_Yours eternally,_

_Kurt Marko.  
_

 

Sharon barely avoided fanning herself. This time she decided upon opening the letter alone in her room, precisely because she feared for her own reactions, and she was getting tired off Lisas's insistent remarks daring to call such a devoted and intelligent man, her Kurt, a fairy.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply: there was an unplaceable scent alongside the usual cologne. She didn't know what it was, but it gave a whole new feeling to the reading experience.

For the first time since the exchange of letters begun, she actually believed in hope for herself and for a better life back at her rightfully inherited Xavier home. She was convinced Kurt would be her key back to her gorgeous life, and could barely wait to reply.

As such, drunken with the rising feeling of what she might on a good day call blossoming infatuation, Sharon rested her back against the mattress and pillows, for once not remembering to get dutifully drunk, clutching the letter against her chest and closing her eyes, as the many bubbly swirls of emotions moved around her own self at the adjacent rooms, lulling her now dream-filled mind to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magda and the Dark Queen leave into the night, as Sharon has hopes of taking back control of her life.


	76. Great Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt goes deep and low into his sham-marriage scheme, using scientific knowledge to his favour.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab,17th October 1938, Monday afternoon.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He laughed manically, resting on his left side like the proverbial beached whale on his nest at the corner bed he settled down the lab, tears coming down his eyes.

It took him long but he did it. Sharon had capitulated, and confessed her most improper infatuation in the lewdest possible way. He was sure the innevitable aide of certain natural pherormones helped doing it.

Yes, he knew he was playing hard, literally. Appealing to a still young female's instincts and the naturally oblivious human sense of smell, pondering he would hate himself if it didn't work, he recalled fondly how he kept the original letter paper resting against his own flesh between his inner thighs, all the while he slept for a full night, and on how he later masked the nearly imperceptible smell with the usual cologne.

For a fleeting second he pondered on the effect other kind of scents might have ellicited, smirking and pondering he might try to resort to natural prostaglandines, for maximum effect, at his next letter. 

This time though, discreet sweat had been more than enough, and he was sure it would have been even tasteless to act further than that, _now_. 

He had thrown the dice, now it was time to retreat back into waiting, as he observed her downfall into lust.

He should feel ashamed, but he felt very much like commemorating. He had indeed incorporated the role of charming suitor, bastard deceiver, great pretender, wicked creep. He could morph into it and think like one. He almost felt like a shapeshifter, for a fleeting while. To pursue Sharon made he feel like he were wearing another person's skin.

Closing his eyes, he drifted away on his daydream until the instant he had been called back to reality by a momentous kick to his bladder, almost making him piss himself off.

"Fuck, kid!" He closed his mouth with his hand, not willing to curse before the unborn minor. "Sorry. We don't want our little girl being an improper one, do we?" He snorted, shaking his head wondering if insanity was a contagious disease.

Shrugging, he kept talking to the stomach, as he turned absently pages on the obstetrics book. He was dying to know when precisely the birth would take place. He was curious to see the child's face and was half hoping it would be a little nerdy girl with striking black locks and dark eyes, alabaster skin, reddish mouth, ready to wear thick glasses and learn many languages and just generally become a juvenile genius.

He had been making plans to prematurely teach the kid the alphabet and words by constantly reading scientific books and Scientific American paper's to her, playing classical music, having her take flute, harp, violin, piano, ballet and side-saddling and swimming and gymnastics to make sure she hones her probable inherent flexibility and strenght since an early age, not to mention chess lessons, scheduled natural science museum sightings, surprise exams on basic physics, well, everything.

He sighed. He wished to give her everything he failed providing Cain, everything he wished he had been provided himself, including the ballet.

Hell, he was intent in doing right this time. He was sorry he had been so busy working and Marjorie wasn't the mother he wanted her to be, being slightly too violent and prone to hit Cain for anything. He also cursed himself for actually not interveening and preventing her deeds, he could have, but never did, and he had no excuse for it.

He swore to Brian's ghost to try to avoid beating Cain. He hoped to be able to accomplish it, for he was already guilty by omission. He hoped Cain would cooperate as well, instead of being just a brat and actually deserving and calling for beating.

He wished he could telepathically herd children, and contained his will to cry at the memory of Brian sending Cain and Charles out of the room with a snap of fingers.

"Little girl. You are the only thing preventing me of snapping insane in mindful hatred and spite. Please don't disappoint me. The last thing I need from you is you actually giving up on having a healthy relationship with a good scientist fellow, and most importantly very bespectacled and blue eyed young man, in favour of some terrorist pseudo-boyfriend who doesn't even love you and only wants you for your looks and maybe even your potential gifts, armoured in something as tasteless as maroon and purple drag."

Kurt actually clutched his fingers together, interlocked, closing his eyes and praying to a God he didn't believe in, for a full second. He also wished his kid to not be a whore teen one day, and to at least know who the father of his grandchildren would be, for Kurt wasn't willing to coerce a herd of suitors into DNA-testing (although he would, only to crush the windpipe of all the losers, and the balls of the irresponsible devil, to make sure he wouldn't try that stunt ever again).

Sighing, he sagged back on the pillows. The full idleness of his waiting game was slowly killing him. He was even talking to 'God'! He was certainly getting crazy.

Kurt shook his head. He was a homosexual widowed pregnant atheist man with a murdering instinct and a revenge to enact, in his lost love's name, inducing a widowed woman to marry himself by aide of scientific info on his side. Talk about surreal, wicked and mean. He had no idea on how many natural and society laws he was currently breaking, but was sure they were plenty.

He certainly had the whole Tenth Circle in Dante's Hell reserved specially for himself. 

He could hardly wait for his turn to getting there in full circumnstance and pomp.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Black Forest outskirts, Great Germany, 17 October 1938, Monday evening.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

At the forest outskirts of a distant village nearby the german branch of the Black Forest, at the last house of the village, the tinker shop, a steel-eyed nine years old boy peeked out of the window, as soon as he heard the sound of tree branches being broken.

He gaped staring at the huge black horse, trotting saddleless with seemingly a young boy mounted upon it. As it walked slowly, the boy fleeted two very blue eyes towards him, locking their gaze for full ten seconds.

The little boy, no more than five to six years old, wore a dark shirt, a dark sleeveless sweater with overalls over the top, boots and a tweed baker boy cap. The horse huffed, shaking its head as it slowed its pace, and finally stopped, kneeling down its front legs to allow for the boy to come out.

"Thank you, Maryia." Magda, dressed as a boy, spoke, as the re-christened dark queen whined once. From the window, still hidden behind the glass, Erik stared entranced.

What was such a small boy doing alone outside? How come it hadn't been atracked or robbed, or had its horse taken away by the nazi militia? Where was his family?

"Father." Erik called Jakob's attention from a mechanical contraption he was building "There is this small boy outside with a horse."

Adjusting his pipe on his mouth, Jakob stood up, leaving his screwdriver and soldering iron on the work bench, coming closer to the tiptoed Erik by the window.

"It's a bit too late for him to be alone, isn't it?"

Jakob nodded absently, as on the outside the black horse just laid on the ground on its side and the boy climbed atop it, giggling like there was no one else in the world but them.

"Sure, son, but we can't be responsible for everyone in the world. If his parents allow him alone outside, it's their problem."

"But father, I never saw this boy before."

"Must be some wandering gipsy folk, they tend to train their horses to do some amazing stuff, not to mention steal from everyone. He must be scouting for unsuspecting townsfolk for their people to steal from."

"He looks hungry."

"They always look hungry, Erik. That's the whole point of it."

Erik sagged, still staring at the little boy, sighing, then he excused himself and left. Everytime he failed getting what he wanted from vatti, he would head to a much better source.

"Come, _liebling_ , mutti made you matzo, it's served."

Erik stepped slowly to the dining table, taking sight of the meal, sitting before his plate. His mother kept speaking.

"I've already called your vatti, but he's as usual too busy tinkering, so no need to wait for him." She served him, then herself "So, what have you done of new today?"

"Nothing. Today vatti didn't get me any scraps of metal."

"I'm sure he will get you some tomorrow."

Erik moved the food in his plate.

"Mutti. There is this boy outside."

"Yes?"

"He's with a huge black horse. He's alone on the outside. Maybe he doesn't even have a house to have dinner at."

Edie raised one eyebrow.

"Erik, are you saying you want to invite a small boy you never met before to dine just because he looks hungry?"

Erik looked at his mother under his eyelashes, blushing, then nodding. Edie pursed her lips.

\---

Erik beamed behind a sharkish grin, as little Magda sat with them at the dining table, fleeting her topaz eyes around and at the meal. Jakob and Edie Shared glances, and the father finally sighed, puffing his pipe, as Edie served (what she thought) was a little boy.

"So, dear, what's your name?"

Magda munched slowly, recalling that she was supposed to be a boy now. A name suddenly came to her mind though, and she spoke.

"I'm Max... Max Maximoff."

They raised their eyebrows, then Edie spoke.

"Good to meet you, Max, I'm Edie, he's Jakob and our boy is Erik. He's a Max too. I believe you two will be good friends."

Magda fleeted a glance at Erik, who smiled wrinkling his nose. She did too. From the outside, feeding on old hay, Maryia, the now deceased dark queen, kept her watch, ready to morph into a rabid wolf if needed be: no one would mistreat her baby girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magda, disguised as a boy, meets Erik for the first time.
> 
> On a side note, Dante's Hell only has nine circles of sins and punishments. Kurt clearly helieves he deserves a brave new circle only for his personal category of wicked.


	77. Chess Games.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus Schmidt has to accept his loss, and Emma takes control of the castle.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Caspartina, main room, 01st November 1938, Tuesday night.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Klaus Schmidt fumed behind his terminal, observing the radar bleep. He still couldn't believe the mute woman and that obnoxious kid had run away from his grasp.

Even though he forced Emma to locate them by all means possible, she claimed not being able to. Even hitting her against the walls of the room and rendering her unconscious in diamond form didn't make her change her mind, and after being hit nearly ten times, he finally convinced himself she was telling the truth.

Damn woman! He regretted not having followed Irene's suggestion and turning the dark haired slut while still in black jaguar shape into stuffed living room decoration, back then. He was sure she had been the responsible for breaking out of the submarine-ship and taking Magda away. 

The only thing he couldn't understand was why.

Usually Klaus was the one to run away and abandon people, not the opposite. The novelty of the situation striked him.

Sighing, remembering his grandaughter locked up in an Asylum to treat alcoholism, he pondered that soon she would be gone from his life too, as everybody else did.

As strange as it may seem, Klaus actually missed Esmeralda. She was the one who gave him hope and purpose, and planted the seeds for him to decide upon creating the perfect mutant supremacy world, by turning all baseline surviving humans into his slaves.

For a fleeting second he asked himself what it would be like to break the curse of the Highlander. 

It was one of the few things left for him to feel, the kiss of death. Every single one who ever tried beating him, received all the kinetic energy back, and most prompty perished. There was no one in the world able of bringing him any sort of damage.

He would actually be pleasantly surprised by the one or ones who could face him and shut him off permanently.

Smirking and shaking his head, he served himself a dose of whisky, lounging on the round sofa and sipping slowly, very much glad Emma was a skilled telepath and a gorgeous young woman, and that she undoubtedly deserved the title of White Queen.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Caspartina, Emma's Room, 01st November 1938, Tuesday night.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the late 'Dark Queen's' room, Emma had just made sure all the black lingerie pieces were packed away, replacing them with the most appropriate, classy, white intimate attire, beffiting a virgin like herself.

Even though Herr Klaus had throughfully believed he had just taken her nubile barely legal 16 years old virginity, in truth he had fallen prey of her illusionist skills.

Oh, yes. Emma wasn't stupid to just give herself away to the first fucker. No matter if he was her rescuer, she just didn't want to trade such a valuable commodity like her own diamond purity for any sort of gratitude. In his mind, it had all been the same, if not better.

Emma had had sufficient mind-reading experience with Klaus' tastes while he had been having his proclivities with the now gone black haired woman, to know exactly the kind of illusion to project and simulate. She was indeed the white, virginal Queen, and intended to remain so as long as she could.

Not to mention avoiding any children. She didn't want to mother anyone for a long time, much less from a psycho bastard like Herr Doktorr, who had the habit of beating the shit out of his women. She was very glad her diamond form was resistant enough to avoid damage to her pristine skin.

Klaus Schmidt was sure he was the one commanding their operation, when in truth Emma knew precisely where to lock his mind, where to turn his powers off, how to change his memories, and most importantly, how to make him think she is eternaly grateful for her rescuing, on how she loved him deeply, and on how much she desired him.

It was easy to lie, specially when she had her powers to imbue the sense of truth to the memories. He had no idea why he bled so much affection for her, believing she was just a nice young girl, grateful for his handywork and his love.

Emma though knew well. Very well.

It was to her interests to play the innocent girl. She gained much more from feigned innocence, than from cunning, for now.

One day she might be the very one who would snap his mind frozen, then off for good.

For now, let him be the Black King. Despite the game ending with the death of the king, everybody knew the most powerful piece of the game was and would ever be the Queen.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Asylum, Sharon's room, 01st November 1938, Tuesday, near midnight.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Like a hormone filled teen, our good 35 years old Sharon hid the newest letter from her handsome suitor off the whole staff. She had received it during the morning shift, and soon after the orderlies changed shift, she was sure no one of them would know she had gotten mail.

She had gotten increasingly annoyed by Lisa's uncalled for possessiveness. According to Sharon's concepts, they weren't even having sex. It was merely fooling around, and it was their agreement. Booze for boobs. Simple as that.

Sharon never promised she wouldn't try getting her life back. Much less that she would resist the charms of the most entrancing man she ever met. Ok, Brian had been a nice man, a great fuck, but lacked a kind of rawness she for some reason, found out she actually needed.

She had no idea why the mere opening of Kurt's letter, without even having read it, brought her such inquietude. She very much liked the idea, though. She felt she could close her eyes and picture him like 'that', which brought her good shudders, specially coupled with the following words.

 

_  
New York, 28th October, Friday._

_Beloved Sharon._

_Allow me to be bold._

_I can no longer be away from you. I close my eyes and see your blue gaze. I lay down to sleep and think of your smile._

_I sip the sweetest wine and recall of your red lips._

_You enraptured me. I fall helpless victim of your charm, I heat under your memory, I burn from my most intimate insides. You awoke a monster, dearest._

_Let me sweep you off your feet. Let me lavish you with my own personal gifts, of which I assure you I have plenty, since I cannot fill you with material gifts._

_I apologise for my boldness, but my tongue loses control in your presence (as in speaking), as do my fingers (as in writing)._

_I almost die thinking about you. My lips miss the taste of your flesh. I wish they could taste you further. Our contact had been so brief but lasting._

_Allow me to make it last forever._

_Marry me._

_With deepest love and longing burn,_

_Your eternal slave,_

_Kurt.  
_

Laughing to herself like a maniac, a mix of desire and the feeling of victory, hope, and the prospect of getting away from the Asylum for good, she couldn't help but thanking any God who might be listening, for her current luck.

Clutching the letter to her chest and breathing deeply, she closed her already blown up irises, feeling hot-flushed, hands shaking, legs begging for muscular movement. For once, she was glad no one was witnessing her current lack of control before an emotional intimate situation, and believing she deserved some gratification, decided upon putting her hands into very good use, fantasizing all along about her towering packed-muscled 'cavemen', a soft line of dark hair trailing down his navels from his chest, filling tastefully his forearms, inner thighs, nether regions, shins and even discreetly the upper surface of each toe, taking her over all the while scraping his hard bedtime stubble (no matter how much he shaved in the morning) and other hard touches and lenghts against her own flesh and skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon surrenders to her newest dream.


	78. The Last Stand.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles senses something's wrong.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Nursery room, 09th November 1938, Wednesday, right after midnight.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Charles awoke that night with a feeling of deep alarm. It took him a while to recognise that the feeling wasn't his.

He stood up, mildly worried. Even though he was currently hating Kurt, and couldn't catch a single thought or feeling from him, he recognised that his invisible friend girl was currently more whole than it used to be, and that for some reason it had reacted to something Kurt did.

Charles hated vague information.

He held the sheets until his knuckles went white. Was Kurt hurting her? Was him beating her? What could he be doing to her, to make her suffer in such way?

Pondering he would hate himself if he didn't try finding out, he left his bed, placing his hand on Fiona's forehead and wishing her a good night of sleep, leaving the nursery.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, then around the manor, 09th November 1938, Wednesday, post midnight.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt groaned and turned and tossed on his current corner bed at the underground lab, a fine line of sweat beads forming on his philtrum line, until he finally woke, smearing his right hand through his forehead and cleaning more sweat.

He had been having those bad nights, specially when he would sleep on his right side or try to be on his back. Itching on the sides of his stomach, he sat on the mattress, taking the stethoscope and checking on the foetal heartbeat.

Nodding to himself as he counted the 144 beats per minute, he extended a hand towards the glass of water, drinking in large gulps, being greeted at the end of it with a kick on his left kidney.

"Good night for you too, little girl."

A lighter kick this time. He stood up, going to the crackers. It's been long ago the last time he had any lack of appetite, and he was truly glad he never had much sickness anyway. The only thing currently worrying him was the fact that the D-day just didn't seem to come, ever.

Turning the cooling on, he decided upon taking a shower, when the knock on the door was heard.

He stalled. No one was supposed to come by, and Walter never knocked.

\---

Outside the huge metal door, Charles, clutching a brown teddy bear with a blue ribbon, knocked again. The strained mental pattern almost requesting for help had stopped a few minutes ago, but he knew the invisible friend was in there. Sighing, he spoke.

\---

"Kurt?"

Kurt cursed under his breath, hearing the small voice of the young telepath. Still behind the very locked door, he answered.

"What is it, Charles? Don't you know I'm working down here and it's dangerous and no one should come by?"

Afterall, that was the official excuse. Charles made silence on the outside.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, boy?"

Chatles sighed audibly.

"Your friend was hurting. You have to stop hurting her." She will be his girl friend, afterall!

This time Kurt sighed. How was he supposed to hurt an unborn foetus by merely sleeping???

"My invisible friend is very fine, Charles. Now go to sleep, before I summon Walter to take you up."

"I want to see if she's fine!"

"You can't see an invisible friend, for God's sake, Charles, go to bed!!!"

He chuckled, resting his forehead against the cold metal of the door. He was bickering with a five, almost six, years old child. From the other side of the door, Charles insisted. Kurt interrupted.

"Charles. This is final. Go away, or I'll open this door up and take you upstairs myself!"

Kurt bluffed, hoping not to need to go. Charles whined.

Knowing about the stubborn personality of the boy, he shrugged, concluding that right now, no one would believe Charles anyway, even if he told that Kurt was huge and fat and walking around with an invisible friend in tow. Regular people would never make the connection, and most wouldn't even believe the kid's words.

As Charles kept on talking about needing to see the friend, the door suddenly swung open, revealing the main room of the lab, the bed in the corner, the nest of blankets and pillows, the tray with the latest meal on the lab counter, and finally, Kurt's inflated sight, no pajama top, arms folded over his stomach, visibly angry, breathing deeply, black hair now slightly overgrown framing his ears, three days stubble, brows furrowed, black eyes in a squint.

Charles gaped in an 'O' at the sight, fleeting his eyes up the very tall man, and down, inequivocably stopping by the 'watermelon' a couple of times. 

Before he could speak, Kurt caught his right arm with his left hand, and walked the lad up the stairs, slowly around the manor, heading towards the first floor.

"Ouch!! You're hurting me!"

"Quit the fuzz. This is just a firm grip, and it won't even bruise. You are sorely needing discipline."

"Father never made me do anything like this!"

"Of course not, he never needed. Not even you could counter our good Brian, lad. All he needed was a snap of his fingers. You however, you still have too much to learn, but one thing you'll learn now. You can make anyone in this household do your bidding, but you cannot make me."

Charles widened his eyes. What was Kurt talking about? Did he know about the fact he can make people give him extra dessert, go away or just be nice to him?

Kurt actually smirked at Charles' gawking face.

"So, no idea on what will happen now?"

Charles blinked, trying to find Kurt's mind, not locating it. He didn't know what would happen.

"Perfect." Kurt completed, nodding his thanks to Brian's ghost, and finally arriving by the library locking the door behind himself.

"Why are we here?"

"They say the library is the learning ground. Here you will be grounded, and learn. We have the whole night, boy."

He handed Charles a book, and the boy caught it, hesitant, opening it.

Was Kurt joking with him? Why he had given him such a big book with no pictures?

"Any idea what the book is about?"

Charles shook his head. Kurt took the book from him, motioned for him to sit on the sofa, and sat himself and his huge stomach plus his bare chest on an armchair facing the boy, opening the book.

"Very well. I am aware you have not been fond of your current classes. You should thank me for trying to provide you with education. Looks like we are sharing this night with gentlemnaly learning. This one is my favourite introductory book. Beginning."

He turned the pages, licking his fingertips a couple of times, until reaching chapter one. Charles couldn't help fleeting his glance between the stomach, and the book. Charles tried to speak, but was interrupted by Kurt's glare.

Snickering, pondering Brian would be proud of him, Kurt cleared his throat, starting to read the book called 'Physics 101', from the page one on, as Charles had a pained stare.

\-----

Properly robed now, Kurt opened the nursery door, a sleeping Charles in arms. He looked around, finding Fiona on her bed at the other corner of the room, soundly asleep, looking very much she was put to sleep artificially by a certain junior telepath, probably even unwillingly.

Shaking his head, he placed the boy on bed, tucking the covers around him. 

Stubborn lad! As nosy and stubborn as his father. If he were going to be a telepath, he ought to have some sense of responsibility imbued in his mind.

Kurt shuddered at the idea of 'Brian Junior', a boy with no sense of right or wrong, wanting to make only his will prevail, possessing anything resembling mind-controling telepathic powers.

It was certainly worse than an abusive adorable bastard who enslaves lab technicians into microscope work, and who invades his own mind while he was pissing. Charles could actually order people to do dangerous things, unwillingly, or worse, on purpose. If he could, Kurt would try to fill the lad with a couple of moral values and sense of responsibility. 

Kurt fleetingly pondered on his own raw muscle power and remembered how he could easily snap necks, dig his hand through a chest cavity and pull a heart out, and even rip guts away or break limbs if wished (he never tried any of these, but he theorised a lot on the subject, in fear of making some irreversible shit). Having a physical gift made you very aware of your potential for harm and your own limits, unlike with Brian's pestering telepathy. Perhaps he might suceed on what Brian certainly wouldn't.

Shaking his memories away, he looked around the nursery and at the crib, and concluded he still needed to get at least a couple of clothes and a ton of diapers and one crib downstairs, before it would be too late to set one up.

\---

Hours later, Kurt was back in the lab, carrying the latest of three baby bags, finally locking the door. 

He had located earlier a dismounted toddler ground crib with a locking lid, looking more like a kid cage than a crib, and concluded he wouldn't get anything better with the current availability of resources he had, and proceeded to move the pieces down, making sure he would have it assemblied by tomorrow.

He sighed, setting the bags down on the ground. He was feeling like lead came down his feet and settled there, and even noticed they were slightly swollen, probably due to him staying sitting with them down while reading, then walking around for the whole night.

Groaning as he sagged on the corner bed, massaging his own feet, he closed his eyes, snickering at the memory of Charles, throughfully asleep after one mere chapter of basic newtonian physics, sprawled, snoring on the sofa.

He really could hardly wait for the D-day to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt confronts Charles and ends the night with the upper hand.


	79. Laboratorium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the time is due..

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, 11th November 1938, Friday morning, 0930h.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He was ready for the D-day. He had been exercising for months. He had even done a through self-study on obstetrics, learned to calculate the inner pelvic measures through manual and bimanual touch of his own fingers, and found out he had more than enough hip room for the passage of the fetal head (the perks of being too tall: his moderately wide 'obstetric' hips passed undiagnosed his whole life, and he was usually considered narrow waisted).

Yes, Kurt was very confident on his measures and flexibility, by now being expert in keeping on a squatting position for hours, pro in breathing exercises, knowing there would be pain and keeping individual subcutaneal morphine shots ready for the most critical moments to come (knowing he might even need to cut his own perineum partially open to ease delivery, psychologically prepared for that).

He sighed, very much glad that Charles learned to avoid the lab since the last time he bored the kid to death by reading him physics.

He could hardly wait for the due day to come, which was supposed to start sometime between last week and next week. He was tired of the kicks, the heartburn, the back pain, and just wanted the whole thing to end, for him to resume some semblance of normal life and have his kidneys and liver only for himself.

So, without much to do but play the waiting game, he was sitting on his bed nest, stuffing his ass up with chocolate, and just updating himself with the latest edition of Brian's Scientific American still ongoing lifetime signature, the moment the first pain started.

It wasn't the telltale excruciating labour pain he imagined. He didn't feel like cursing Brian's dick for knocking him up (in truth he missed it, and obviously even more the wonderful man attached to it), didn't feel like murdering anyone yet, he didn't even feel the need to scream. He just wanted to crap. Badly.

Obviously, nothing came out, and according to the literature, the regular labour would still go for about to 12 to 24 hours.

Pondering things weren't looking so grim, and starting to feel really sure about his ability to make the delivery alone, without even cutting himself down the perineum to aid, Kurt, laying on his left side, inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, imagining in a few days he would even be able to surface with the child and claim it was adopted or something like this.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, 11th November 1938, Friday night, 2045h.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Cold sweat crept up his forehead at each contraction. Still, it was under the limits of bearable. He mused that if he were this peculiar to the point of being able to house the child in, and keep it until therm, and have the almost appropriate hipbones, it would be just cruelty of nature to NOT allow him to take the labour into successful completion by the natural passageway.

He felt himself impossibly stretched from the inside. Each pull was painful almost to the point of tears or tearing, but he would man it up. Not that he had a choice on the subject anyway. 

It just needed to come out, even if it killed him.

At each glove fingered touch he made himself, up the birth canal within the rectum, he was sure the whole foetal binomium (foetus-placenta) should be getting down, anytime soon. 

Wondering he was too tall and that it was the reason why he couldn't track any real progress down yet, he remained on his squatted position, keeping the most reasonably cool temper he could.

The only thing beginning to worry Kurt was the growing intensity of the muscle cramps coming from his lower back, and the painfully strained corresponding movement from his stomach, contracting his abs and forcing everything down. 

He wasn't used to any muscle straining, ever, it was a totally alien feeling for him, to have the muscles cramp so much that he couldn't even think well.

Were he thinking well, he wouldn't have been worried about the increasingly extremely painful cramps.

No. He would have been terrified instead by the sudden repentine end of them.

Out of nothing, as if blissed by the most amazing morphine drip, all stretching, all pain, all straining was gone. 

He sighed, wondering it was over then, but frowned, knowing the child was still in, and that he hadn't even broken water or blood.

That was the moment he started fearing that something had gone horribly wrong.

He couldn't feel the 'watermelon' anymore.

He couldn't feel any pain anymore.

He couldn't feel foetal movement anymore.

He couldn't feel his legs, his hands, his arms, his head anymore.

He couldn't sit, he couldn't stand up, he couldn't scream nor call for help, and he couldn't breath anymore, much less do anything but feel his own sight darken and his eyes close, as even the sounds of the cardiac monitor attached to his chest faded to silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...or not?


	80. Deliver me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt awakes.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, 12th November 1938, Saturday, early morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He blinked up, looking at the ceiling, recognising the underground lab. Slowly, feeling heavy and rather immobile, he tried sitting up, discovering he couldn't. Feeling for the mattress, he found he wasn't on his corner bed.

Strange. He didn't recall moving out.

He could now hear the heart monitor though, and it was beeping weakly, but steady. Trying to look at his surroundings, his head was heavy and his movements slow. He tried once more sitting, to no avail. Propping himself up with his arms, he almost fell on his back, for he didn't have any strenght left on his abdominal muscles.

Looking at the white sheet stained red on his chest, he brought his arms up, moving the sheet down, stalling.

There was a fucking huge line of crude stitches starting right over his epigastrium, going straight down through his navel towards his pubic bone, where it expanded to both sides, finishing in an anchor fashion at each side of his now fully shaved chest and stomach, by his inguinal region right and left.

He had been hatched open and sewn back unceremoniously, apparently in a hurry, and that was the moment his thoughts joined themselves.

The 'watermelon' was gone.

His child was gone, and it wasn't crying anywhere close, so it only could mean that the child had to be...

"...pretty much sleeping, infact."

He held his breath, trying to locate the origin of the sound. Without looking much though, he found out he wouldn't need to search.

Dr. Nathan Mildbury was hovering over his face, dressed on a blue surgical gown, surgical cap in head, mask hanging from his neck.

"Lucky you to have Irene inform me on the approximate due date months ago, before she disappeared. I confess I had been stalking the manor like a creep for days now. Good for you I am a shapeshifter and it was just easy to morph into your own self, to come down here undisturbed."

Kurt shook his head. It couldn't be happening. His worst nightmare had happened: Dr. Nathan had made his delivery and certainly even prodded him up there.

"Don't worry, your ass was all the time out of my reach. Despite you not being an MD, boy, you did a half decent job on trying to prepare yourself for labour. Good hipbones, by the way. You might even have accomplished it, if it weren't for a basic but fundamental mistake."

Kurt looked at him, raising one eyebrow.

"You never tried to check if the child was cephalic or on her feet. You see, a full breech presentation resulting in "natural" podalic birth without aid is nearly suicidal, Kurt. Maybe next time."

He widened his eyes. Next???

Dr. Nathan cackled laughing.

"Sorry, it was a bad joke. No, Kurty boy, you'll not be able to try this stunt again."

Of course not, he would never get anything up in the ass anymore, not even an enema. As a matter of fact, he wouldn't even engage any kind of sex or even remotely masturbate anymore. He would in truth avoid the subject altogether, and if it weren't enough he would consider neutering.

"Don't be that radical, boy, what I meant is, everything inside you just 'exploded', to put it simply. The womb couldn't stand the straining anymore, then it ruptured the two main uterine arteries, and you started beeling internally. As I said... your luck that I took special interest in your case and had been shamelesly stalking you."

Kurt wondered if Dr. Mildbury was a mind reader powerful enough to break into Brian's mind seals, because he was sure he wasn't speaking.

"No, Kurt, you may not notice because you are slightly too drugged with opiates, but you are speaking everything you think up to me."

Holy crap.

"For your knowledge, you had been speaking deliriously and I dare say, deliciously, about *everything* in your mind and memories for the last 24 hours since I came down here, sedated and operated you on your main lab counter, saving your life."

Everything?

"Everything. A shitload of everything you could conjure up. You know, now I understand why Irene used to be SO tuned up to Brian and you, like the perv she is."

Why?

"Well, not only you two are good in the eyes, but also you had a somewhat fertile imagination together. C'mon, Kurt, the least strange thing you spoke about was that thing on you wanting to dress up in a skimpy blue dress and walk the catwalk back on Oxford on your admittance ceremony."

Can you pretend you never heard that one?

"Not likely. I've seen weird enough in my life, but the stuff you talked about hit the jackpot and reached a new level of ubergeekness. I particularly liked that one about you dressing as snow white and pretending to be cryogenically preserved into a coccon pod while Brian, your techno prince charming, would come out of the white horse, I mean, white chrysler, run the pod sequence to unfreeze you and you two would resume.."

I changed my mind, please pretend you never heard THIS one.

Dr. Nathan shook his head, smiling, placing his left hand on Kurt's right shoulder.

"Sleep it off, boy. I won't go around telling your secrets, but I might relish them fondly in lonely nights. Don't worry about the child, though, I volunteered to take care of everything. I'm not as incompetent or that kind of creep, as you may think. Your child is fed, clean, clothed, alive, sound and safe, vaccinated, and she needs a name."

She?

"Yes, a sturdy and stocky girl packed with muscle, with a beautiful head with soft black hair, like yourself, hazel eyes with a hint of topaz blue in the outer rim and emerald green in the middle, a beautiful mix, and Brian's pale white skin tone."

Kurt pursed his lips, lowering his gaze.

"Sorry, but it's true. Beautiful family you two would have created. It's a true pity he is dead and we have no samples of his seed, and you on your turn have no more womb anymore to try new combinations. I tried one last emmergency measure, but the ovaries were also beyond salvaging. Pity indeed. You could have been my own private Black Womb."

He shot the doctor a murderous look. That was the reason why he wanted to have done everything on his own!!! No doctors poking him anywhere!!!

"Listen you up to me. Learn to take blame where it is due, Kurt. Weren't you so stubborn, had you searched me from the start, you would still have your spotless skin, no scars, and your hermaphrodite reproductive system in place, lad. And had you and your sweet Brian sided with me earlier, and surrendered any posse over you to me, he might have never died at the lab fires in first place!"

How dare you speak about Brian!!!

"I'm old enough to be your great-great-great-great... You get the idea. Just know that your stupidity and insistence in getting yourselves locked down and with the land lines unplugged, solely to avoid me, made it impossible for the security send an early warning of fire.

Kurt sagged in place, defeated.

"Yes, Kurt boy. Despite Brian's brilliance he was incredibly stupid, thinking he was invincible and could do everything and get away with anything he did. He truly believed he was some sort of superman. At least you retained a healthy amount of fear for your own self. That's probably why you are still alive. The coward rabbit runs and lives to run again."

Kurt avoided his gaze. He prefered himself dead and Brian alive. Dr. Nathan shook his head.

"Have some rest. You lost blood, and ours is an unsafe age for blood transfusions, there are new diseases coming up in mankind, and you are better of recovering your blood on your own."

Why the fuck can't I stand up?

"I had to perform an epidural anaesthesia, added to the opiates fogging your mind. You'll be walking by tomorrow."

What's your price?

"Price?"

No one does anything for free. You aren't aiding me free of charge.

"Of course not. I took special interest on the case, remember, yours is... was the first documented fully functional hermaphrodite reproductive system. It will feed my mutant X-files. I have already been paid by Science. Since you can't get pregnant again, I have no further interest in you once all is over. Satisfied?"

Kurt shook his head, raising his left hand towards his eyes, closing them and pinching his nosebridge: what could be worse than having Dr. Nathan around?

"But hey, humour me..." Dr. Nathan caught a chair, sitting right besides him, poking his shoulder once. "What was that thing about you and Brian hitting the drive in and closing the car windows, moving to the back seat..."

Kurt cursed. Obviously, it could be worse, like having Dr. Nathan around AND asking about his intimate life. Sometimes the nightmare just never ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Nathan had been stalking Kurt and interveened at the last moment saving his and the kid's life.


	81. Children Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt gets the hand of mothering.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, 18th November 1938, Friday morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Can I breast feed?"

"Probably not. Are you seeing breasts?"

Kurt contracted his two pectorals alternately, looking at them under his unbuttoned shirt. Dr. Nathan facepalmed.

"Even if you can picture them, and considering they might lactate, it will not give away enough. Hell, even women sometimes just don't get milk. In your case, there's just no storage space, so to speak. You are a mutant, not a female to male tranvestite, no matter how much you would have enjoyed that. Moreover, unless you want to try and glue the kid like a kangaroo on your nipples, for her to suck continuously, I'm afraid it just can't be done."

"Good grief, it's freaking weird to listen to you saying these things about me."

Finishing to dress himself, leaving the bed and walking for the first time since the last day, Kurt moved to the crib, where the girl was wriggling feet and hands, laying on her back.

"Oh, you don't even get close to weird, boy, just look at the wonder of life before you. THIS is weird. Now get the girl down there and bottle feed her."

Kurt, now inside the square crib, sat down wincing, hand on his stitches and clutching his underbelly, then held the smiling newborn up, as Dr. Nathan watched from the outside, leaning closer to help.

Looking down the deep blue outer rim of her eyes, Kurt nearly cried. Pity his black eyes were too genetically dominant to allow for Brian's topaz blue to come through. He loved blue so much. On cue, Dr. Mildbury spoke.

"She was born precisely at 2120h, almost blue due to hypoxia, by the way. Deep blue. It took a while to make her look normal. She almost died. I guess she deserves a good name."

He sighed, looking at the girl. He wanted to call her a Marko, but knew he either had her 'fathered' by him, or Brian. He couldn't name both, and certainly he wasn't above relinquishing her rights to the Xavier fortune. He wasn't a gold digger but wasn't stupid either. So, his choice was done.

"Darkholme. Mother's maiden name."

Dr. Nathan nodded. Abbreviated D.'s go well in signatures, and may even pass as a second name instead of a surname.

"Now onto a real first name. Have you really thought about none?"

He shook his head. He had been too busy planning stuff like the hiding of his state and the secret birth to worry with frivolous things like a name.

"Very well. If you allow me suggesting. Raven Darkholme Xavier. She rather looked like a dark raven when she was out, all hypoxic blue and lanugo sticking with dry grease and blood like little feathers everywhere. Sorry for the honest mental image."

For a fleeting second Kurt pictured the girl clad in blue skin, and found her disturbingly beautiful. He nodded, not even finding the comparison offending. He was undergoing mother owl syndrome: no matter how different, his child would always be the most beautiful.

"Well, boy, you better get to a lawyer soon. Who knows what kind of mutation this girl will sport. I hope it will not be too late to register her officially as a Xavier."

Kurt, bottle feeding the kid and just plainly amazed by her very human hands, nodded absently, not really listening. Dr. Nathan shrugged. No one could blame him for not trying to help.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, nursery, 18th November 1938, Friday morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Charles had the mind of the invisible friend pinpointed and continuously followed her through the underbasement. He wanted so badly to go down and meet her, but he sure didn't feel like being lectured to death by Kurt. There were fates worse than a beating.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, trying to pick the thoughts of a stranger that was on the underground lab with Kurt, but found out him absently thinking about bedtime, food, and... diapers. Finding him too weird, he shifted from his mind to Walter's, who had just fed the waste lines in the kitchen, locking them back.

Finally, he met Fiona's mind, trying to catch up with schoolwork, hoping to one day become a governess and not only a nanny.

As such, alone invading people's thoughts, rocking on his wooden horse (which he liked, unlike old Elba the mare), free of lessons for a change, Charles for the first time wished to have a really wide range, because he was truly sad for being unable to feel farther away than from his own home. 

He very much wished to find Cain again. His birthday had come and gone, 21st September, he was by now for long six years old, and no one remembered or gifted him, nor cared to commemorate. He was certain Cain would.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Harvey's Boarding School, New York City, 18th November 1938, Friday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cain had to share a double room with a boy older and surprisingly nearly as tall as himself. It was hard to match his size and age with a suitable colleague. He was built like a ten year old, although acting and thinking like the seven year old he was.

He soon found he had no conversational skills with his roomate. The lad, named Galileo McCoy, was twelve, excessively thin, wore glasses even heavier than uncle Brian's, always carrying and reading his books, speaking impeccable english with a british touch. Being five classes older than Cain, they shared nothing but their height.

On his side of the room, sitting on his desk, Cain tried to get a hand of cursive writing. He actually wanted to study. He only screamed to his father he would never make him proud just to spite him.

He sighed, thinking that if he were as lithe and small as Charles he might have been allowed home. Being now in company of other boys, he finally understood why his father thought he was ready for school.

He could easily punch his way through his classmates if he wished. He had at least double their weight, and probably three times their strenght, even considering those nearly his height. The others just had no chance, and they knew it.

Which was why most people steered away from him. He had pose, walked like his father, swinging shoulders, arms slightly arched and fists usually clenched, steps stiff, hips nearly unmoving, in large steps. It was menacing to anyone watching him approaching, even when he meant nothing but walking by.

His permanently furrowed brow also didn't help, and apparently green eyes were associated with poison, evil, only adding to the canonical evil conotation of his deep black hair. He didn't fit with the youngsters, nor the elders.

Strangely, when at home and by his father Kurt, he never had to think about it. Being tall and strong was just the norm for him, being Kurt his only male role model until they met Brian.

He noticed how Brian was smaller, lither, but at the same time posed the same, if not more, attitude than his own father did. Cain wasn't the brightest of the boys, but he knew deep down that Brian was the brains all along, and that for some kinds of friendships, apparently being taller or stronger didn't mean being the boss.

Cain sighed. He was sure that if Brian was still alive he would have just made Kurt never put him into boarding school, simple as that.

Not that the school was that bad. Due to his build and size, he had already been assigned various sports classes, including gym and liftweighting, running laps, and even horse-riding, which he loved dearly because horses weren't afraid of him.

Which was one of the reasons why he wanted to get the hand of cursive. He actually wanted to write Charles, tell how the school went and that he hoped to find him there next year. At least then he could ask to switch roomates?

Cain very much hoped he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles is dying to meet his new friend, and Cain is dying to get back to his older one.


	82. Blissful Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven and Kurt experiment a few of the maternity bliss.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, 28th November 1938, Friday morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt had been sleeping and still living down the lab aided by Dr. Nathan until his stitches were removed and he could do everything for little Raven on his own. Then, once his mission was done, Dr. Mildbury bid his farewell and left, proving to Kurt he was only an obsessed creep when a pregnant wom... person was involved.

As such, finally with quality alone time with the kid, Kurt enjoyed his little vacation with his Raven. Dressed up in the most hideous outfit he could muster, with the worst non-haircut ever, for he didn't care a shit about the world right now, he actually laid back on the mattress just playing along with the kid.

He was slightly sad for not having girls clothes to dress her with. Charles' blue tops would have to do. Not that the kid cared. All she cared about was him tickling her tummy, sticking a foot in her mouth, cuddles, rocking, and obviously, very generous bottles of milk, and filling diaper after diaper.

Turning one of the lab sinks into a makeshift laundry, he would first pre-clean the diapers on the shower, then dip them in soap inside the shink. This was one batch of clothes that couldn't leave the laboratory ever, so handing them to Walter wasn't an option.

Smuggling an ironing cloth downstairs, he finally managed to be able to dry the diapers at the speed his Raven wore them.

Being a mother was though. He cried when the umbilical cord came loose and the navel started bleeding, thinking the child would die. He panicked when the kid remained one full day without crapping, only to fill five diapers in the next single forthnight. He thought he had killed her when he bathed her in the tube and she gurgled water down her nose and mouth. He feared he would crush her with his hands alone. He screamed with the girl the night she had gases and he had no idea on how to make the pain and the crying stop, and it only did after she released a huge burp, an enormous fart and a shitload of ... you get the idea.

It's not like he could phone his awfully absent mother, tell her he was now a mommy, and wanted to know what she used in them when they had a bad stomach as babies. Even if he could, he doubted she would remember.

In a fit of despair, he even managed to scream and yell at Brian's ghost that he had swore he would midfuck the devil and god to come back, and he would better come back indeed because Kurt sure couldn't do it all on his own!

Of course, once the screaming fit was over and Raven was crying too, Kurt sagged on the corner bed with the kid in arms, took a physics book and started reading aloud, hoping the kid might sleep (she did, for a few mimutes, but did).

He was feeling slightly depressed, despite happy for having survived and having the child along. He was tacting around and had only a vague idea on how to go through this having a kid thing. It was one thing to be a working father and coming home to a clean and fed child, ready to go to sleep, and another entirely different thing to make sure said kid is fed and clean in first place, and also sharing a sudden lack of regular sleeping hours.

No wonder he felt like a lawnmower went through him a dozen times, not to mention the headache from the epidural and the continuous thirst from the withdrawal of opiates. He wasn't surprised by the complete lack of any kind of arousal, not even a single morning wood or the wish to actually have one. As taxed and illslept as he was, it would be actually a miracle if he had any blood to spare anywhere besides what was left of his hindbrain, and apparently his hindbrain wasn't craving that.

He flopped besides Raven facing her nub nose and staring deep into her eyes.

"I can hardly wait to be able to surface with you, enlist the house help for aid, and even charm Charles back to my graces by showing him the invisible friend. I actually like the boy. I hope you like him too, and in a few months maybe we can have Cain back, and be almost the family we ought to be."

She stuffed a full fist in her mouth, unblinking. He remembered Brian stuffing his mouth with cookies, and smiled sadly.

"Will you ever wear those big dorky glasses, just to break my heart a bit more?"

She opened her mouth in a huge charles-like smile, gurgling again. Kurt sighed, pinching his nosebridge.

Before even remotely surfacing Raven, though, he had a more pressing matter.

His sham-marriage to Sharon. He hadn't answered her last letter, and he couldn't let this slip. Kissing the top of the baby's head, he stood up and moved to the typewriter, cracking his fingers. He had a lenghty half-truth to tell.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Asylum, Sharon's room, 30th November 1938, Sunday, morning.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

" _New York City, 28th November, 1938_

_So long, beloved, it's been so long._

_I had fared unpleasant circumnstances and I feared for my life._

_I find myself still recovering. There was need of surgery. Appendicitis, so I have been told. It exploded, almost killed me._

_I suppose now you might no longer desire me, now I am marked and scarred. Ugly, swollen and purple, the scar goes trailing down my navel towards the beginning of my nether regions, and spreading to both sides, like the anchor that grounds me into life. The doctors said they needed ample access to clean off the pus from my insides._

_I feel the need to detail you what I have been through. You have been my sole confident over these months, my dear, my only friend._

_Sorry for my crude words. I hope I haven't shocked you, and that it might have explained my absence of communication._

_Perhaps if you do not find me disgusting or innapropriately bold, I might one day show you all of the damage my skin now sports. As friendly curiosity, of course. I would never dream of soiling your honour showing more than necessary._

_I missed our letters, my dear girl friend, Sharon._

_Let's meet one of these days. I have acquired authorization to have you come for a visit. Please tell me if you wish to see me._

_I would be most delighted._

_Your dear friend,_

_Kurt._

Sharon released the breath she was holding. So this was why he had been absent for so long. Life-threatening appendicitis. She had a pang of sadness in her chest, thinking she might have lost forever the only chance she would have of leaving the Asylum.

Besides her, peeking through her shoulder, Lisa read altogether and nodded along.

"You know, I'm starting to believe he is being sincere, if he has indeed scars to prove."

"Why would he say he had them if he didn't? It's not like I will never get to see them, afterall, he proposed to me. We will get married! I will even get to visit him soon!"

Sharon looked almost starry eyed. Lisa rolled her eyes.

"Fine, princess in the tower, as you wish. I only hope it won't blow up in your face in the end. I actually like you, you know. You deserve better than a marriage of convenience."

"Nonsense, Lisa. He clearly loves me."

Lisa shook her head, leaving Sharon to her daydream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharon on her turn, feels the taste of Hope.


	83. Dr. Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven acquires her mutation.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, 19th December 1938, Monday, morning.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt awoke to Raven's tenth or so hungry cry since midnight, and sleepy, tired, exausted, he left to fill another bottle.

Returning with the warmed milk, he yawned, taking the kid in arms and unceremoniously filling her mouth with the bottle, knowing how much the child ate.

Still lazily looking, he asked himself when he had entirely dressed and painted her in blue.

Looking again, he widened his eyes, gaping.

Holy crap.

He blinked twice. Carefully, he touched her nose, then her forehead, attemtping to smear the blue out of her skin, to no avail.

Ok, who was the fucking fairy godmother that insisted in granting precisely Kurt's worst wishes?

When he thought he would find the kid beautiful under blue skin, he sure wasn't lying. She was striking.

But certainly the wicked fairy godmother had the most twisted sense of humour.

What was he going to do now with a blue skinned, yellow eyed, red haired kid?

And most importantly, HOW the fuck were he going to take her to be registered, now he couldn't even show her anywhere???

He sighed, caressing the velvety blue scaled skin of his beautiful dear Raven, happily going through her bottle, blinking twice her yellow eyes.

He was most definitely going to need a _very good_ lawyer.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Bernard Shaw's Attorneys, New York City, 19th December 1938, Monday Morning.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dr. Bernard shook the strong griped hand of the blond youngster before him, motioning for him to sit by the desk.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Frost. So you are a recent graduate from NYU Law, having taken an interest in Family and Sucessions."

The blue eyed man nodded, holding onto his case. That was his first job interview, and he was anxious.

He had been disowned by his family the day his father found out (thank you so much, dear sister Adrienne!) he was homosexual, and managed to get his boyfriend, Dante Ortega, framed and extradited to Cuba. He also managed to send Christian to an Asylum for a 'gay cure'.

Pretending to be cured was easy. Once he was out of the Asylum, he packed his stuff and abandoned the family for good.

As such, he had few options but to finish his Law course through a grade's scholarship, and live hand-to-mouth until graduation.

He knew his family was a fucking mess. His mother was a neurotic manic-depressive socialite, his father Winston Frost was a nearly broken altough ostentatious old-money Boston-Massachusetts gambler, Adrienne married that old fuck only for his fortune, even though he kept other three mistresses around the country and Cordelia was just a brainless rebellious teen with no mind of her own.

Of course, there would have been Emma, hadn't her been kidnapped as a baby.

Since his three living children where such a fucking big disappointment to Winston, he clutched with all his hopes to the possibility of Emma ever being alive somewhere, and being successful. He had already disowned all the three siblings, and swore the fortune or what remained of it would go as donation to anyone but them, if Emma was never found.

Fine by him. He had been freed by being taken out of sucession line. He would no longer need to get a convenience marriage. He had even managed leaving drugs (which he did some times in the past specially after his father framed and managed to get Dante deported - and was ashamed for doing them) once he was out of Winston's grasp.

"Impressive grades you have, Dr. Frost."

He HAD to have them. His scholarship depended solely on himself. He nodded politely to Dr. Bernard.

"What are your expectations in the Firm, Dr. Frost?"

Eating properly? Owning more than one suit? Having his own home? Actually knowing that every month he would have his secure pay?

"I expect to excell my best on every duty assigned, sir."

Years living under Winston's rule thaught him how to be sleek, afterall. Dr. Shaw nodded.

"Very well then. you'll be my junior assistant. With time I'll inform you of all our clients. Get yourself comfortable around, Dr. Frost. I have a couple of Xavier's papers to settle. Please have some coffee and biscuits."

Dr. Christian nodded, whispering a thank you, heading to the snack: he had no breakfast that morning yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We learn Emma had been kidnapped as a small kid and thrown into the Black Womb Project.


	84. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt proposes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, main family room, 21st December 1938, wednesday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt adjusted the knot in his tie, consciously looking at himself through the mirror at the main family room, after he had Walter help him trim hir hair shorter.

"Are you ready for facing madam Sharon, Master Kurt?"

"I have to be, time runs short." He recalled the dramamine-drugged Raven on her locked crib underground. "I have 12 hours before needing to check on my experiment."

"So no more risk of radiation, sir?"

"Gladly, no, Walter, everything went smoothly. Did anything noteworthy happen in the last days?"

"Besides your leaving and entering the lab a few times without saying a word to anyone, no, sir."

Kurt nodded, happy that at least Dr Nathan didn't disturb his secret. Checking the hour on the wristwatch, he pondered the ambulance would be arriving anytime now, and he was about to make the performance of the century.

On cue, the ironwrought gates opened, as the ambulance came in and parked, Sharon leaving aided by one male orderly, a heavy coat around her.

Kurt inhaled, anxious, his left hand tracing unconciously the anchor shaped scar in his abdomen through his shirt, under his suit and the trenchcoat. He could tell from afar she was terribly sober, and that had to be changed soon.

Sharon on her empathic side knew he was nervous, and anxious, crediting it to her own self. 

In a way, she was right. Kurt was about to do the one thing he learned to hate the most in his life.

"Dear Sharon, so long. We have so much to talk about."

He caught her proferred right hand, kissing it with his eyes closed. She smiled.

\---

Hours later, walking by the greenhouse, protected from the wintery day outside, Kurt stoically standed the now drunken self of Sharon, his right arm offered to aid her equilibrium.

Actually that was the only way he standed her presence and even her touch.

Sober she was too talkative, inquisitive, and curious to his taste. She had been asking if Brian really did an underground lab at the manor, that she couldn't believe Charles was into horse riding, and about the nature of the experiments he now intended to conduct there.

Smiling, he just would pour more and more wine into her glass at the greenhouse's white tea table, diverting all her questions, until she got to her actual state. Too sober to stumble or fall, too drunk to care she was drunk, too drunk to do more but small talk.

"The day is so eventful and marvellous today, isn't it dear Kurt?"

He nodded, walking her towards the white arched bench still within the greenhouse, guiding her to sit there.

"A perfectly winter day indeed."

He remained stood up, staring at the snowed up hills and trees outside, hands behind his back. She stared numbly at the same general direction, incapable of feeling the waves of disgust that were now coming from Kurt.

Breathing deeply, feeling the weight of the tiny velvet box within his pocket, before he lost his courage, he turned 180º, walking two steps and reaching the sitting Sharon, practically between her knees himself.

She stared between drunkedness and confusion, as Kurt actually knelt down on his right knee, placing both hands on his left one, looking directly at her reddened eyes.

"Yes?" She managed to chirp, blinking at him.

He smirked, taking the black velvety box from the pocket in his suit, offering it open to her, as she stared inside, numb.

"Dear Sharon Schmidt Xavier, will you marry me?"

Sharon stared, immobile, for ten full seconds. It gave Kurt time to take the modest golden ring with a discreet diamond ingrained in in his right hand, then place it slowly on her right hand's ring finger, all the while intensely staring at her eyes.

"Please don't break my heart."

Sharon actually blinked up tears and threw herself in Kurt's arms, as he prevented her fall, sobbing and crying profusely, muttering innumerous thank-yous and snuzzling her face against his neck. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and looking up the sky, mentally congratulating AND hating himself, on a job well done.

\---

From within the kitchen, Walter sighed relieved as he saw both embraced after the proposal, specially when Kurt stood up, helped Sharon up and finished his task with a well placed, tasteful and chaste, close mouthed kiss on her lips.

\---

Charles, aware of the scenery through his mother's mind, scowled and growled, shaking his head. He was only six but started feeling very old during the last months as he saw more and more into people's minds, and right now, his mother's was a confuse mess of desire for Kurt and more than one single kiss from him, gratefulness to his proposal and bitter hatred at Brian for sending her away.

Disgusted by his own mother, instead of making her refuse the proposal, he let her be. He had just found that she had lots of mean thoughts about his own late father, and decided that she didn't deserve to be spared of Kurt.

\----

Sharon actually found out she didn't want to be away from Kurt. She wanted to stay home, to consummate the wedding now, to elope, drag him into her suite, do anything in truth.

Kurt, however, unyielding, told her he would get her official release from the asylum and the marriage papers and event planned to perfection, and in due time she would be out and back to the nest of her home and into his arms.

He timed the last phrase with another tasteful kiss, having to quickly retreat when Sharon's tongue attempted invading his mouth. Holding her close, he whispered to her ears.

"Not before the help, beloved. You will want complete intimacy for this, trust me."

He then blew a kiss in her ears, making her shiver, then nod starry eyed, as she left with the orderly at the ambulance. Once it was far and away, and he was back at the main family room, Kurt sagged on an armchair, cleaning his mouth with the back of his left hand, as simpathetically, Walter served a tray of tea.

For the first time in his life, Kurt actually _felt_ like a whore, and thanked Walter for the tea. The butler left, and Kurt ignored the tea, then turned to the small liquor cabinet, grabbing a full bottle of whisky, heading to the lab.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, 21st December 1938, Wednesday, night.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Coming down, he placed the bottle on the counter, going for his responsibilities first.

"Who's my little bird?"

He handled her from the crib and she started awaking, rubbing both eyes.

"Poor dear, sorry for the dramamine, but I will need to resort to it from time to time, and again tonight."

Raven yawned. Kurt yawned on reflex, holding her one armed, on a side, hand in her bum, freeing his left hand to grab a clean bottle and whole milk.

"Time to glomp a cow! Gobble down everything!"

Delicate like a rhino, he brought the bottle to her mouth. She drank practically asleep, then was made to burp, had a change of diapers (that this time were reinforced double), and after a few minutes of pretending to hide behind his own hands and showing up as she alternated gurgles and yelps, he started slowly cradling her into a steady rythm, as he gave her once more the dramamine for the night.

It's been a couple of months, actually since Brian died, that he felt entitled to a night of drinking and crying and regretting and widowing, and he wouldn't be capable of doing it with a kid awaking and demanding his presence.

As she slept deeply with him reciting the periodic table by heart, he held her close,whispering he was sorry and that he loved her, but tonight the night was his, and placed her down the crib, finally locking it and heading to the bottle of whisky he smuggled down.

He has no intention of becoming an alcoholic, ever. But sometimes, just sometimes, our life is so fucked up that all you want is to get numb. He could understand Sharon, even though he hated her.

He only hoped Brian's ghost wasn't up there shaking his head at him in disaproval, he thought bitterly as he had the first long gulp of burning liquid.

Water came down his eyes and nose, and he coughed, unaccostumed to alcohol. This trashing would come real fast, which was just perfect. He wanted to get to the wimpering mess phase soon.

Unfortunately, he got to the hallucinating phase first.

"What do you think you are doing, love?"

Kurt blinked drunkenly from the lab stool where he was sitting, to the other lab stool where Brian's microscope sits, covered under a white cloth, thinking he saw something there.

"Ah, no. No way. Of all times, not now. Fuck off, let me drink in peace."

"Please, don't do it dear, what if you are out more than 12 hours and our Raven wakes up???"

Kurt had a clear impression of a piercing blue eye judging him. He snapped.

"I know it's not you, Brian, it's my consciousness heavying my mind towards my responsibility, our dear Raven, and I'm not going to talk to a hallucination. For the first time, FUCK OFF MY MIND, YOU ARE DEAD!!!"

The Brian impression looked hurt for a moment, but made no move to leave or disappear, still sitting on the other stool. Kurt got to the crying phase, gulping more whisky down.

"I'm sorry, I miss you in my mind, you are always welcome, don't go away even if you aren't real, please, I'm stupid, angry and now drunk. Sorry."

"That's why I'm here, love. I'm sorry I can't do more. But I can keep you company until you pass out. Hopefully you will wake up to the crying Raven."

"You are a very kind hallucination, Brian. Join me? No? Oh, yes. You can't drink. My bad."

The 'ghost' shook his head, then complained he missed his spectacles, because he couldn't see around very well. Kurt snorted, sending a knowing glance to the visage and gulping down more whisky from the bottle, slowly and lewdly, finishing the gulp with a slow lick on the glass. The Brian impression managed somehow to choke.

"Ah, but THAT you saw, you incorrigible minx. I'm starting to believe you have selective myopia."

"That was rather impossible to miss, darling. Maybe you have selective memory as well. Right now I regret not having my body anymore."

"Right now I regret not having your body anymore. I need a hug."

"After THAT display you honestly want only a hug from me?"

Kurt nodded vigorously. "M'always lon'ly, would lov'a hug" He gulped more booze. "But that special, slow, rib crushing, tender, bear hug complete with your hands braced on my shoulders and my leglock around your waist." He made vague round shapes in the air with his hands. "And you burrowed deep down and just unable to leave my very warm clenching h..."

"Good grief, should have had you trashed drunk when I was alive, we would have been EPIC!"

Kurt gulped down more alcohol, actually ending the bottle. The ghostly Brian wobbled before him, or the opposite happened, perhaps. Kurt braced himself against the counter.

"I think I'm drunk."

"No kidding."

"No, really, really drunk. Shit drunk! More than ever before."

"That was your intention, wasn't it, love?"

"I always said yes to mom and dad. I always studied. I never missed classes. I never got drunk before today. I took 38 years to figure out I'm gay, and to complete the mess I'm marrying Sharon, and and also I'm a general failure, and I never had anyone since you died, 'cause I'm not a whore but today I felt like one with Sharon, she tried to slip her tongue on me and I hated it and wanted to bite it off for a second, but I got a plan to avenge you and I must marry her for that... "

"Shush, that's allright, here, your corner bed nest is waiting, you are now drunk enough to fall asleep, and yes, you may cry yourself to sleep."

Kurt actually wobbled his lower lip at that, standing up to try to hug the hallucination, who made him a signal to stop.

"Don't want to ruin the illusion, do you?" He waved the way to the corner bed, as Kurt looked visibly hurt for not getting his hug, but gave up and practically threw himself on the bed, eyes closed and nosebridge pinched.

Once he opened them again, he didn't see the Brian ghost standing up anymore, and sighed. From his left side, a voice startled him.

"I'm here, I said I'd be around until you sleep."

The 'ghost' was actually sitting at the left side of the bed, looking down to Kurt, who looked up at him teary eyed, as his sight slowly fogged with alcohol, sadness and regret.

Once Kurt was nearly asleep, the now very foggy Brian visage approached his lips, leaving the fleeting impression of a kiss before vanishing completely away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and commemorates with the trashing he promised himself on Brian's death.


	85. Within Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt regrets his last night, and plans about Christmas for his three kids.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, 22nd December 1938, Thursday, morning.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt awoke startled by the most hideous famished cry ever. Under his pounding headache and a couple of low curses, he stood up, bracing himself against the wall.

"M'going!"

Raven cried higher. Kurt actually ran to the fridge and the bunsen burner, and never before a bottle was ready faster. His ears were still ringing when the blue girl suckled famished, wetting his lap with her diapers soaked in urine and more.

He cursed himself for allowing late night's trashing. He should have known it was a world that never would belong to him. He had never had the right to party or blow steam off before, why would he now that he had a kid???

Once she was over eating, he actually went fully under the shower with her, peeling both their clothes to the ground, washing her immediately. He didn't need rashes or bruises from overstayed diapers on her. He hated himself.

He knew he was doing it all wrong, but sat on the ground anyway. The kid didn't care, and actually wriggled hands and feet happy under the shower stream, as he held her uphigh, and a faint buzzing still plagued his ears, not allowing him to forget last night.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!"

She gurgled, splashing water on his already soaked face. He actually ended up laughing with her, and eventually both tired of the hot water.

Slightly later, both were dry, dressed, and sharing the nest at the corner bed, Raven on her back and Kurt face flat on a pillow, on his stomach, with both feet up in the air, swinging them slowly one after the other.

Raven yelped, high pitched.

"I know. I'm never drinking like this again."

She laughed.

"Do laugh on my misery, I deserve it, take no pity on my hangover."

An indistinct gurgle followed. Kurt left his feet hit the pillows before the headboard, stopping to move them. Maybe this way the world would stop spinning as well.

"Christmas' coming, bird. But we are not having none of this christian holiday thing. You and I, we need no religion, I'm a convict atheist and thus freeing you from the curse of dominical school and baptism and all this crap. You, dear, you will get Santa Claus, a fine tree and socks with gifts. I will set one up for Charles and Cain, and I'll set one here for you, all for my special girl."

Raven stared at him, fully attentive. He didn't stare back, still face flat on the pillow, voice muffled slightly.

"You know, I might have dreamed about your dad last night. Don't remember very well. You would have liked him though. He would be a parent way better than me. Everything was so easy to him. Funny, beautiful, kind. Loving... Why is everything hard to me?"

She rolled on her stomach, raising her head and hitting her feet at Kurt's ribs. He winced, turning on his side.

"I don't remember these kicks on my kidneys fondly, bird. You are the loveliest pain in the ass I ever had. I'd read for you but I can't open my eyes. Come here, the day is cold, let's sleep, no medication or alcohol this time."

He pulled her close, passing an arm around her back and cradling her head on his left armpit, hand holding securely her back, rocking her slowly, both drifting into slumber together.

\---

Upstairs, Charles picked the exact moment the invisible friend slept back, for he was heavily tuned to her awaking in first place, and actually spied on Kurt through her eyes for a while.

There were lots of things not making any sense to his still young mind. For once, the friend actually had a dad Kurt once knew. On another thought, Kurt looked huge and blurry from her perspective.

Horrified, Charles stopped, tight lipped. Kurt must have stolen or bought a baby from someone or somewhere, and was keeping it hostage, on the lab underground. Or maybe that stranger brought the baby in at some point and it would explain why she was kept hidden/invisible.

Confused as hell, Charles shook his head. The invisible friend was a reality he intended to uncover, but not at the cost of his sanity by being lectured to death by Kurt. He had patience, and right now his infantile mind was more bent into the Christmas tree Kurt said he would get them, and at the prospect of seeing Cain again.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Harvey's Boarding School, New York City, 22nd November 1938, Thursday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Cain sat crosslegged at his bed, looking intently at his roomate Galileo, who had a letter in hands and was reading it out loud for him.

"...as such I am requesting that Cain Darkholme-Marko is put on leave for Christmas season for familial confraternisation. Signed, Kurt Darkholme-Marko."

Cain had a wide grin, as Galileo adjusted his spectacles before his dark blue eyes.

"Looks like someone is getting to go home this holiday." He smirked, returning Cain the letter.

Cain nodded, thanking him for reading it. He still had difficulties reading and writing, dyslexia as the school's medic told.

"I guess I owe you, Gal."

Galileo waved a hand dismissively.

"No trouble at all. I thought it would be terribly dull having to share the room with a eight year old novice, but you actually surprised me, even being five classes under my level." He adjusted his books, one on top of the other, at his own desk, with neurotic precision. "You started off slightly too immature and pouty, but you seemed to have adjusted well."

Cain stared, puzzled behind his green eyes.

"I guess sports helped." He shrugged "Didn't make any friends, but the horses like me."

"Of course, you're built like one. The weak get scared." He winked.

"Yeah." Cain didn't notice the wink. "You had been the only one to not run away from me and actually help, like now. Thanks."

"Why would I run?" He nudged him in the shoulder "I happen to like a challenge. Ready to work a bit in cursive, or willing to train more reading now? Not everyone gets private tutorage from me. My treat."

Galileo joined their chairs on one desk, sat on one and patted the other, pondering he wasn't a bad boy. Maybe he should change his most probable fate and allow him into the table of the nerds at lunch time, otherwise Cain would surely end up with the bullies and the jocks at some point, and the school already had bullies enough.

Cain stared between disbelief and happiness, showing precisely how much he took after his own father, by blindly following the patting hand and sitting besides his private tutor for the time.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Black Forest outskirts, Great Germany, 22nd November 1938, Thursday evening.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Erik tiptoed inside his own home, looking at all sides. He knew he was in trouble. He had disobeyed his father again and went after that boy Max Maximoff and his mare, wasting his afternoon once again instead of helping at the tinker shop.

Creeping into the room as silently as possible in the dark, he hoped to get to his bed and pretend sleeping, the very second the lights were turned on.

"You know, son, I actually thought you wouldn't get to that phase of sneaking in late, until you were at least done with your bar mitzvah."

Erik stalled, as his mother strode to his side, and he sighed relieved for knowing he wouldn't be beaten, but shuddered thinking she would resort to endless talking and questioning.

"So, were you once again against my best recommendations with that boy?"

Erik hung his head in defeat. Edie sighed loudly.

"Son, we don't know his parents, he is always alone either riding that horse or with a huge black dog in tow, he never bathes or changes clothes, and actually for once I am tempted to agree with your father that he might be a gipsy trying to lure then rob us."

Erik remained mute. He knew the torture ended sooner when he didn't protest.

"Why, son, why do you keep going after him?"

Erik had no idea. He was only recently turned nine. Something in the boy's topaz blue eyes held him captive, always returning. Edie pursed her lips, seeing the pain in Erik's steel eyes.

"This... isn't healthy, son. I will make sure to start taking you to our neightbours to meet their daughters and make friends of their sons. Perhaps your need for companionship might be fulfilled better within our own people."

Erik kept his silence, digesting her words. She patted his shoulder.

"Go to your bed and cover up well. Your father thinks you are there sleeping, and ill. Don't make of me a liar."

"Thank you, mutti." He left silently to his room. Edie remained downstairs, shaking her head, as outside by the snowed up on windowsill a pair of emerald green eyes blinked, and the howl of a wolf followed into the forest nearby, fading behind the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cain makes a friend, and Erik is by now hopelessly caught under Magda/Max' spell.


	86. Winter Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is told there is no Santa Claus, and Kurt leaves home to gather Christmas gifts.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, mansion grounds, New York, 23rd December 1938, Friday, morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt, a winter coat, a towcart, heavy boots, a fur cap, an axe, a very ill-mooded junior telepath dressed for north pole, and a mission: find the perfect Christmas tree.

"We already have a tree and decorations."

"It's a _fake_ tree, Charles. We are chopping a real one. The year was rough, we deserve a good tree."

"But you'll be killing the tree!"

"Like every food we will eat will be dead too, boy."

"Why can't we move a full grown tree inside the house with roots and everything and keep it alive?"

"Too much trouble. Maybe planting one on a pot will make it ready in ten years, if it doesn't stunt its growth due to lack of sunlight or root space. I know what you are trying to do, don't even think about ruining Christmas, lad."

Charles pouted. He didn't want to ruin Christmas. He just wanted to pick on Kurt because he could.

"Why do you need to drag me?"

"Consider this official budding time between future stepfather and stepson, not that I don't have ever considered you also mine since your father was still alive. Now take a stop and look, Charles, there are dozens of pine trees, pick one for the main room."

"Why won't we simply buy one?"

Kurt grits his teeth, as Charles holds a small smirk, then sighs. He didn't want to push too far and get lectured. Looking around, he stared at a weird crooked pine tree, not much tall, overgrown at all the wrong angles.

"I liked that one."

He obviously didn't. Kurt stared at the tree, axe over his shoulder, pondering on the choice.

"Nice one, if you are into those japanese bonsai. Convince me where she would be beautiful on the main room, and it shall be our tree."

Charles stared, then sighed. He couldn't outwit Kurt, he was still too young and his ability to convince people of anything just doesn't work on him. He sagged, then pointed to a slightly more straight tree, where the decorations could actually be hung up at without the tree falling.

Kurt snickered then patted his shoulders, approvingly. Waving his hand in the air for him to get far and away from the tree, he angled for the trunk with the axe, holding it left handed, and started cutting the tree down, almost effortlessly.

Charles stared severely impressed as the tree fell heavily on the snow, and Kurt lifted it easily from its trunk under his left arm, placing it neatly on the towcart and roping it there.

Still gawking, Charles blinked the snow out of his lashes. He certainly didn't want ever to be beaten by a man who could lift a tree this size alone. Not that Kurt had ever been violent to him, but it didn't do anyone harm to be careful.

Without warning, he rested the axe into the cart, lifted Charles as well and made him sit straddling the tree at the towcart, then caught the handle, pulling it away from the pines towards the mansion, asking if he wanted to hang the decorations after or before Cain arrived for the occasion.

Charles pondered on the subject as the towcart's wheels, absolutely not appropriate for moving on snow, cut deep trails on the snow, despite the fact he could detect no visible effort on Kurt's part to take the certainly heavy weight.

"It will be fun with him around, but maybe I want to surprise him."

Kurt nodded absently, covering the last meters to the mansion.

"Very well then, go fetch Walter and ask for the decor. You both will prep it, get that girl Fiona along. I still need to go into town and grab some stuff."

Charles raised his eyebrows. Stuff. For a second Kurt felt like HE was the mind reader, smirking.

"Stuff for Christmas. "Santa Claus", that is, _moi_ , needs to get the gifts."

"You, get the gifts?...but what about the real Santa Claus?"

Kurt shook his head, saying he was sorry, but that Santa was a myth and added that he had better taste than Santa and would actually get good gifts for everyone. 

He ruffled once Charles mop of unruly hair, then threw the chrysler keys in the air once, getting it middair and pocketing it back, before waving a goodbye and heading to the garage.

As Kurt started the car and left, Charles sagged nearby the tree, still, at the towcart. Kurt had just shattered his Santa Claus fantasy entirely, and the boy didn't know if he should feel angry, sad or relieved at the new knowledge.

All he knew is he would miss his father's beautifully constructed Santa illusion, where he would make sure he had gone to bed, otherwise gifts wouldn't be under the tree in the morning.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
New York City, main streets, 23rd December 1938, Friday, morning, later.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Within the car, Kurt actually believed he had done a great job at bonding with Charles, unable to realise the kid had his heart shattered.

Unfortunately he wasn't a socially apt person, and frequently his trials at delivering information and showing feelings were often unsubtle and sometimes soul scarring. He was blunt to the point of offensive, hard on telling truths, struggling against all his nature when he needs to fake being excessively polished and smooth when he didn't want to be kind.

Like in his interactions with Sharon, who he hates with a passion but must put up with for now. He could barely wait to drop the charade with her down. He hated wearing their engagement band on his right hand, but it was part of the deal and he was supposed to, so he did.

In thinking it was precisely his bluntness and crude sincerity that had attracted his Brian, as well.

Focus, Kurt. No blurring eyes with unshed tears while driving. Remember the Gifts. And a shiny tiny fake tree for the lab and his Raven. Life goes on. Life moves on. Life...

SCREEEEEEECH!!!!!

A human body collided against the car (incredibly, not the opposite) rolling over the sturdy hood and leaving a trail of blood over the stark white paintjob.

Life is a fucking bitch!

Unblinking, feet dug deep into the brake, Kurt stared wide eyed at the blood for three full seconds, wondering he had killed the man.

Getting out of the car, he resumed breathing when he saw the suited blond man on the ground try to stand up. Good, he wasn't a killer yet - one less crime on his list. The blood tricking down the man's head and neck made him stop trying to stand though. A useless crowd gathered around the scenario, as expected.

"Are you...?"

The man on the ground just grunted and waved a hand around, trying to collect his suitcase. Kurt crouched besides him, and called his attention again.

\---

Christian Frost, a capable and eager lawyer, couldn't believe his lack of luck. Of all days, he had to cross the streetlight without looking on his sides and barge against an automobile when the green light was ON for the car, and he had no chance whatsoever of suing the driver - too many witnesses around.

Not to mention the man seemed worried, before said witnesses, and it would be impossible to plead guilty against him when he was obviously trying to help. Nope, no cash from this mark.

Is that blood? Hell, he was fucked up, and not the way he preferred to be. He couldn't afford private doctors, and the public hospital would likely intern him and he would lose the job he had just recently acquired...

The man still crouched besides him cleared his throat, a deep soothing baritone, and asked again if he could help.

Christian turned to say no and stand up to go home lick his wounds, stopping on his track, blinking twice.

\---

Kurt felt sick. The lad couldn't be much older than 25, but was suited like he worked somewhere important. No one got into high positions that young without belonging to old money and high society. He glared at him with a frank openess that made his dark blue orbs huge and puppy like, contrasting starkly with the pale blond hair and cardboard white skin. 

A fleeting visage of Brian's face without glasses replaced his one, the precise opposite, with clear blue eyes and dark hair, then faded, and Kurt bit on his lower lip, shaking his head and looking at their surroundings.

The people around them were annoying him with their mere presence and he needed to get out of there before he snapped, but specially now, he couldn't leave the bleeding man behind.

\---

Christian fleeted a glance between the stark white Royal Chrysler, Kurt's winter attire and his chiseled face, taking special notice of his first greys and whites by his temples. He sure looked old enough, probably in his late thirties, to be able to afford a good car, and the choice of vehicle spoke volumes on the amount of his probable wealth, not to mention impeccable good taste.

\---

"You're bleeding."

Kurt cursed himself for pointing the obvious. Christian actually lifted his left hand to his head, bringing it back covered in clotted blood, then looked at the car hood, imagining he might end up getting billed for the potential damage to that overly expensive car. He merely stared, waiting the moment he would be called responsible for ruining the car.

"Come, I'll take you to a doctor. You might need stitches."

Kurt extended his left hand to him, and he took notice of the two Oxford Signets on the ring and the pinky fingers, plus the abscence of a wedding band.

Christian blinked: no blaming, and actual worry. In Christian's world, Winston Frost's Lair, no one did things just for the sake of doing. He stared, pondering on the possible subjacent reasons for the apparent kindness.

A million things went through the lawyer's mind. Most were highly innappropriate, one even involved ruining the car in more ways than by merely with blood, and before he could lose himself in his own mind, he looked for a second at Kurt's right hand, finding the dreaded golden band there.

Seemingly rich or at least well off enough to pull a Chrysler, good looks, concerned, good manners, unmarried, but certainly compromised with a fianceé, thus straight. Maybe even some sort of University Benefactor, and thus prone to help people, specially after unintentionally hurting them. Obviously. It would be just too much his luck if it weren't so.

Christian nearly sighed then, accepting the hand and standing up. He could really use the help to get patched before Christmas, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christian Frost gets hit by Kurt but not the way he would have prefered to.


	87. Kurt's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt returns home...

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, New York City, 23rd December 1938, Friday night.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

That night, Kurt sat at an armchair on the main family room, pretending to watch over Charles, Fiona and Walter hanging the christmas decor at the pine tree, as the gifts remained on a pile on another corner.

He had gotten home early enough to carry the tree in and place it on the corner of the room. Nothing like physical activity to remove his mind of the state it was in.

He had hit a man with the car and could have actually killed him. He felt guilty enough already for this alone.

He surely didn't need to start seeing Brian in every blue eyed beauty he met. Brian didn't DESERVE that from him, even though Kurt highly suspected Brian would be actually smug and proud of Kurt having been ruined by himself to this point of not wanting anyone else.

Christian, he rolled the name in his tongue, Christian Frost. He remembered taking the man into Dr. Irving McCoy's clinic for stitching his scalp, then making sure he would drop him by his home and thus avoid the lad being hit by one other car the same day.

Even still, he shook his head, for once he had wanted to get out and just see the "sights".

He had seen a sight today, a seemingly willing sight as well, if the lad's side glances to his hands and tighs were anything to be accounted for, and yet felt no real pull to pursue said sight, dropping him home with nothing but polite concern and a shake of hands.

He smirked to himself, congratulating Brian for leaving him so much in love still that it outlasted the grave. Such sorely missed bastard, such a beautiful mind, such a skilled man. Absolutely irreplaceable. It didn't matter that Brian had given him written permission to seek a new companion. Kurt just simply couldn't. It hit too close home into betrayal: in his mind Brian was still too much alive to be completely dead.

Well, at least a very blue part of him was well, and alive, and nearing her waking and feeding time. Standing up from the armchair and actually noticing the tree was finished and everyone had left the room during his daydream, Kurt stretched himself and called it a night, heading down the lab for his time with Raven, then sleep. Tomorrow Cain would come home, and he was actually eager to see his son back and check on his school progress in person.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, New York City, 23rd December 1938, Friday night, later still.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had trouble to start sleeping, he turned and tossed, even minutes after Raven herself was already off for the night. Maybe he was getting tired of being coped down the lab, maybe he missed a real bedroom, maybe he missed the prospect of freedom a normal looking child would have given him.

Not that he wouldn't go murderous and rabid for his Raven should anyone see her much less attempt to take her away. She was his. He loves her. But it was undeniable that a 'normal' kid would have granted him more rest. He wouldn't have to be so much alone in that.

He could visibly see himself snapping a couple of necks before being taken down. They would only take the kid from him on his death.

Talking on snapped necks.

"Can't sleep, love? Need help?"

Kurt put both hands in his face. He was sure he wasn't asleep, so it wasn't a dream.

"That's it, I'm gone bonkers, first I drunk-dream something about you, which I still cannot remember, now I'm hallucinating about you maybe again, only this time I'm fully conscious."

"Good. I like a consious, screaming, squirming, wriggling and begging partner."

"For fuck's sake, Brian, you have indeed a one-track mind."

"Unlikely, I have proved I can trail many tracks at once, you just happen to be my favourite track. Come, dear, show me your scars, I have a kink for them, and why don't while we are at it we pretend I'm your personal incubus, man of science, and that I'm here to prey on you. You would sleep better off afterwards."

Kurt actually blinked at the brian-shaped hallucination, this time with supplied with glasses. What didn't Brian have any kink on?

"That's what I get from reading your last letter for me, my brain keeps playing with me and hurting my heart. Shouldn't have read that, now I wouldn't be seeing you say this."

"If it is that how you want to believe it..."

"Brian, I'm tired. Either you stop teasing and DO something for real, a real touchable body included, and fuck me raw until I bleed your back with my blunt nails, which would be a feat in itself because I'm a chronic nail biter and you can't bleed because you aren't real, or you go away as a beautiful memory, because the way it's going on now it's making me insane, and I'm near breaking point, because I'm considering but NOT sticking the blunt rounded corner of the bed into my ass just for pretense, because I still have some respect for my sphincters and also I'm not THAT desperate!"

The Brian-shaped thing smirked. Kurt would have already cockblocked anyone with his endless speeches and excuses and whines, but not, never Brian, who reveled in a challenge.

"I liked the way you wanted to mark me, not very effective but possessive and charming, love. Allas, this other thought would have made an interesting sight, you impaling and fucking yourself on the poster, and yes, please stop gawking at me, you know I'm a sick kinky fuck. I know for a fact you didn't even for a single time had anything even remotely resembling a wank or sex since I'm gone."

Kurt sighed loudly at his treacherous brain, supplying him with the hard truths of life. Since the shape wouldn't go away, he shrugged.

"Think as you wish, but never forget you actually gave me written permission to go on! When and If I do get something on, don't come whining!"

"I don't intend to whine, I intend to enjoy and perhaps even take over control of whoever you take for bed partner." He snorted "Yet, even with opportunity, you didn't."

Kurt just glared his icy stare.

"Sorry, dear, rephrasing: couldn't. You actually tried wanking thinking about that almost cute blond lad that ran over our chrysler during the shower, but failed and gave up."

"Go on, keep on humilliating me in my 39's self and failures, see if I care. In thinking I believed you'd be smug knowing you ruined me for anyone else, even my own hands, instead of scolding me!"

"That I am, love. And very proud." He had a wide grin. "But never scolding. Now, really? Not even a single dedicated and slow wank. You could have pretended it was me. THAT would have made me smug and proud."

"No time for slow and dedicated, have three children to take care of and one to hide from the world."

"C'mon, everyone has 15 minutes, darling!"

"NOT ME!!!!"

"Fine, sometimes it takes even less, you never lasted too long anyway during my special assqueeze."

"Fuck you Brian, is that even a word???"

"Should be! It's unexcusable to be this stressed out and screaming to a figment of your imagination, as you call me."

That's it. Kurt's fucked up. He's bickering with his hallucination. He should trade places with Sharon at the Asylum. At least there when he said his hallucination told him to take a wank and that he would love to be his incubus they would pat Kurt in the head and tell him everything was fine and give him a couple of pills.

"Do you want them?"

"What!"

"Pills, love. Do you want pills?"

"Oh no. Don't tell me you can read my mind too!"

"Love, only _I_ can read your mind, I made sure of it. Never forget it, you agreeded to be _mine_ as I did to be yours. Hallucination, dream, who cares! Pills, a wank, or incubus sex? You have three choices, and I can help in all three, I'm not picky."

Kurt's head ached, eyeing Brian suspiciously.

"What kinds of pills?"

Brian sighed.

"Damn it, and I thought you would actually give the incubus sex a try. Pills are on the bathroom cabinet, acetil-salicilic acid, invented by the arabs as a potent painkiller ages ago, yada yada."

Kurt groaned standing up and heading to the cabinet, finding the ASA pills, downing two at once. Once returning to the room, he was surprised by a slap in his buttocks, yelping.

The visage laughed wholeheartedly, as Kurt looked in disbelief.

"You are a fucking illusion and shouldn't be able to slap me!"

Brian shrugged, as if saying he was just this amazing and that yes, he could slap him, with a wide cheshire cat grin.

"Correction: I'm an illusion NOT fucking right now, although it can be changed. You felt the slap, love, I'm positive you could feel more. It's all inside the brain, and in this particular field I am your MI5 quartermaster and you are my double O agent: I say, you do, and you don't even need an earpiece or a handprint coded gun."

He tapped his left temple like he used to do when he was alive. Kurt blinked. The illusionary and somehow solid Brian jumped on him over the corner bed, straddling his thighs, running both hands up slowly.

"I'm a total sucker for these mouthwatering muscular legs. I love how I can move them the way I wish without remorse or fear of causing pain. How will that be? Scissored, locked, spread wide, bent..."

"Brian, you are the filthiest-minded smug telepath-incubus ever."

"And I doubt anyone will ever match me. I'm a hopeless case and I'm not sorry. I can't be forgivened. Maybe some other time you might punish me creatively."

"Brian...." He almost growled but sounded more like a great cat rumbling a low purr.

"I know, none of this today. Today you are the christmas boy. I will grant your wishes, my lazy white tiger, gotta love those little whites in your temples..."

The too hot and solid tongue licked its way up his throat, adam apple, and chin through the stubble, ending in a welcome invasion of Kurt's lips, hands gripping with punishing strenght at both inner thighs through the fabric of the pajamas.

Kurt decided he could only have already fallen asleep at some point and for sure should be dreaming, and dreaming never harmed anyone. The solid illusion or dream, he was no longer sure or caring to question, trailed his hands up and traced delicately the scars under the pajamas top, lifting it slowly up his chest.

"Loved the anchor shaped scar and the stretch marks." He spoke into the other's mouth, and trailed his fingers on the marked skin, reading it like a book in braille. "Don't think I don't admire your self sacrifice. You suffered so much for our Raven and I couldn't do a thing back then."

Kurt just stared, mute, boneless, hopelessly passive, just the way he liked to be. Right now he craved for command, not to be responsible for anything, not even his release. If he could he would breathe on command. Brian, being a control freak, just loved mind-reading it, smirking widely at his thoughts, as Kurt closed his eyes and just went lax like a ragdoll, and indeed purred this time. 

He should be worried that a dreamy hallucination could be so real and solid, but right now he didn't care. It was a guilt-free dream, and it might even have a happy ending. He could survive having occasional dreams like these. If the best he would ever have would be his memories and imagination, so be it.

His Brian grinned on his lips, angling his jaw for the deepest tonsil attack ever registered, and Kurt just took it, pondering that certainly his mental Brian hallucination surely seemed to be pleased and content as well, and Kurt wasn't really going to complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and gets his personal Christmas Gift.


	88. What could possibly go wrong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Real life had been a real pest to me, I had an accident and a broken fibula in my right leg, pnaeumonia during the two previous last weeks, and only today I had a working shift tranquil enough to sit and write. Sorry for the huge delay, for those who had been following, my apologies...
> 
> \---
> 
> Around the world, our favourite characters are spending the day before Christmas the best they can..

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, underground lab, New York City, 24th December 1938, Saturday morning.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

That morning Kurt woke up in the middle of curses. He actually couldn't remember such a big fucking mess on his sheets since... Well, since Brian.

He felt sticky, cold and uncomfortable, concluding he would only be able to take the pants away inside the shower since they were quite glued, and was glad Raven was asleep and hoped she didn't listen to himself scream (he knew he was a screamer) nor anything during this embarassing night. 

At the same time, he felt well like he haven't for ages. His dream was so fucking real he could still feel everything inside, in a good way of sore. Afterall, he wanted it raw, and he got precisely that. Not to mention his lips actually felt swollen and bitten.

The mind was a powerful thing indeed. He wondered if he would be able to conjure Brian up at will.

Once he concluded there were really no traces of anything coming down his ass and as such it had all been unfortunately a sweet dream, as he was in the middle of the shower, Raven awoke demanding her food. He sighed, shaking his head like a dog and toweling it mildly, stepping out off the shower and wrapping the towel around his waist, the scarline visible above his navel.

"You are a special little thing, aren't you? We are still to discover your true gift, little bird. It can't just be 'being blue'. That would be a pretty pointless gift, and it would only serve for us to spend tons in make up."

Raven gurgled, waiting for the bottle, which was already warming up.

"Yes, dear, unfortunately, like that damn hermaphrodite womb, not all mutations are really that beneficial. I almost died, with you inside me. Not that I'm complaining on the result, little Raven, you dear thing are here and well, but I want to believe you will one day understand what I mean."

She stared, as he just felt for the milk, and satisfied, stuck it into her mouth with his usual delicate ways. Used to 'mommy' by now, she just sucked hungrily held by his right arm on his side, as he dipped with the left hand the sheets and pajamas on a bucket, for the sake of pre-washing them.

"You know, sometimes I wished I were a woman, this way things like these wouldn't do that big of a mess when they happened. And I would have been successfull at bringing you out on my own. Not to mention marrying Brian legally and everything. It would have made everything much easier."

Raven burped then giggled. He side glanced the empty bottle, and smirked.

"One day we'll need to teach you lady manners, but so far you are doing great. Packing some nice muscle, bird, I hope you don't get neurotic believing you are overweight when in truth you have muscle weight."

He threw her in the air once, playfully, and middair her skin _rippled_ as she turned pale white, black haired and hazel eyed once she hit his hands, gurgling happily.

Kurt gawked for a full minute as she blinked her dark-blue-rimmed hazel centered eyes, suckling on a thumb. After ten full seconds, she rippled back into blue, yellow eyes, and flame hair. Kurt blinked. Thrice.

He couldn't yet name what she could do, but from what Dr. Nathan mentioned once, he was what he called a shape-shifter and appparently he had control over the appearance shifts.

"Beloved, I think we might have just found out what your gift could be." He grinned widely. "Maybe there is hope for you learning to shift appearances and hide how special you are, and thus we both will surface into life and I will provide you everything, everything you deserve, without the World removing you away from me."

Raven blinked twice and yawned. He snorted, mentally calling her as lazy as himself, rocking her into a soothing rythm, for he still had clothes to pre-wash, before Cain would arrive from Harvey's Boarding School.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Harvey's Boarding School, New York City, 24th December 1938, Saturday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Cain, properly suited like a mini-adult with a tie and a double-breasted suit, a suitcase in hands, his books on another, waited in line for the rent car that his father sent to take him. He thrummed with anticipation, shifting on his feet, stealing glances from the window, as the security guard remained on his post.

"Merry Christmas, Cain."

He almost jumped startled at the voice hovering by his right ear, releasing all the books scattered on the ground. Galileo hid his smirk behind his hand, suppressing his laughter, then crouching on the ground to help the boy collect the books back.

"You scared me!"

Galileo just smirked, handing him the last book and standing up.

"I'm terribly sorry." He wasn't. He had a mean pleasure of making Cain feel awkward, because he flushed beautifully behind his green eyes, and so far all Galileo could do about it is appreciate from afar. Still smirking, he assumed a military-like position, hands behind his back, nodding once to Cain, who looked around and found out a couple of very similar looking older boys walking by. Cain mimicried Galileo. The two older boys nodded back and went away. Galileo released his breath. Cain nudged him lightly on the side.

"What just happened?"

"Oh, you don't want trouble with them. Better pretend you're cool and never, ever afraid of them."

"Who are they?"

"They are the Twins."

Ominous, though Cain, clutching onto a book. Galileo kept talking.

"You were very lucky having me as roomate. Here boys feel the need to prove themselves tough and more than anything, 'alphas'. Consider these two brothers a pair of lions looking for their own pride to command and control, and be happy to remain out of it."

"I don't understand."

"When you return I'll tell you in detail, Cain, and then you will. Your ride is outside, see you back soon."

A blue eyed wink, a smile, and he turned to leave, as the security guard opened he door and guided Cain out into the black rent car.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Black Forest, New Germany, 24th December 1938, Saturday morning.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Magda awoke that morning being shaken by a black dressed gipsy man, and nearly screamed, as the moustache man put a finger to his lips, beckoning silence, winking once then pointing to his neck. Magda gaped.

"Maryia?"

The shapeshifter nodded. She had learned how to shapechange to another human appearance and had been perfecting it for her latest weeks. She found out that it was feasible once she treated this new shape as just another animal. If she thought of herself as human again, the female form would always take over unwillingly.

Magda traced the new shape's face, nodding.

"Ok, when you are like this you are my daddy Django then, and you are doing it to protect me."

She nodded, hugging the girl, then waving the male shape's hand before its nose.

"Uhum, we could really use a bath."

Epiphany hit the shifter, as she stood up morphing into the black mare and nearly at the same time Magda-boy jumped on her back, both heading away of the forest towards the village where Erik didn't live at. It never did any good to anyone to steal from where they want to keep living.

Getting into the other polish village, as Maryia waited pretendng to be a stray dog, Magda did her own personal magic, wishing very hard to not be seen or noticed, getting into the shop as people strode by ignoring her completely.

She discovered this way she could take anything se wanted or needed, from clothes to shoes to soap to food, and that it always worked when she was focused on feeling invisible. Only once she had been nearly caught, but somehow her puppy eyes made everyone start ignoring her again.

After her successful thievery, she left the store and was followed closed by the black dog, until they disappeared again at the forest, and son the sound of hooves clapped on the ground away.

Arriving at an abandoned hunting lodge, Magda quickly got in as Maryia shifted into her human female form, looking around before bolting he door from inside.

They had been wandering by the place for a while, trying to scrape a living from Magda's ability to remain undetected when wished, and her own abilities as a hunting beast. Occasionally, Magda would pout and ask to see Erik again, and Maryia would often comply, having a soft spot for the kid, even against her best feelings.

Today was different though. They had soap, it was cold, they had a cauldron, boiling water, and needed very badly a sponge bath in the least, despite the winter and the cold. Both were stinking, and currently Maryia only tolerated her own smell during the animal shifts.

Not that she needed to be clean for anyone, like when she was with Klaus Schmidt. She was doing it for herself an it felt liberating. She was very glad Magda always seemed to understand what she meant to do or wanted to say, almost as if she read her thougts, because otherwise being together would be nearly impossible.

"Wow, Maryia, the soap is magic, it's turning me white again!"

Magda chuckled at the bubbles, as Maryia sponged the girl's arms and face, smiling, glad for being able to properly be a mother and show affection without fear of reprival.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Main Family Room, New York City, 24th December 1938, Saturday afternooon.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Charles paced around the room, as Kurt lounged against his favourite armchair, both waiting Cain's arrival. 

Annoyed at finding out Kurt had once more drugged the underground lab's baby, by recognising the mind drowsiness the dramamine brougt to the kid, plus the dreamless sleep, Charles could barely meet his future stepfather in the eye.

Kurt, just not having any other resource BUT drugging his Raven with the mildly harmless narcotic, was annoyed that Charles wouldn't stop pacing and more than once ordered him to be quiet, being throughfully ignored.

Walter, aware that these would be difficult familial times, excused himself to supervising the kitchens, taking Fiona with him, leaving the two bickering males alone.

"You'll open up a hole in the ground, Charles, Cain is almost there."

Charles spat that the ground was his and he would open up as many holes as he wished by pacing. Kurt gritted his teeth and held both arms of the chair with punishing strenght, counting slowly.

He knew Charles was testing his limits. He knew right now he wanted to swat at his hands and grip on his shoulders to guide him still on a chair, sitting. He knew he couldn't bring himself to vent against the weak-framed boy like this.

Kurt exhaled slowly, hearing from the distance the whirr of the engine belonging to the car that left to bring Cain home. At the same time, tuned to Cain's approaching mind, Charles turned to the same direction Kurt did, both walking to the windowed door.

Charles plastered his face against the glass, as Kurt smirked lightly at him, then schooled his face into seriousness again, staring at his own son leaving the car, suited like a mini man in black.

He inhaled deeply, amazed to actually see that Cain had managed somehow to grow taller and even stronger, a feat he didn't think possible for his age. He could only hope his mind had matured a bit as well.

For a split second he knew Brian would have nudged him and certainly winked, congratulating the boy's growth anyway, and smiled, long enough for Charles to look up from the glass into Kurt and snicker himself.

At that, both stepped back, as the doorbell rang, and Kurt became serious again, and unlocked it, taking sight of his son.

\---

Charles sized Cain up, down and up again, as the lad on his turn focused heavily on Kurt, who couldn't take his eyes away from his own kid.

Cain bore deep his green eyes into Kurt's, imagining what would be the first words he would listen.

\---

"Your grade book, son, hand it to me."

Cain sighed, giving up on expecting any kind of praise, handing the grade book, then stepping in with his suitcases, flopping himself on the sofa. As Kurt reads through the grades, Charles looked between both, finally deciding upon sitting besides Cain to wait for the veredict.

Kurt looked at the C's and D's from the intellectual classes, mixed with the flawless A's from Ph.Ed., horse rising, swimmming and the likes, making his best not to look too disappointed. In truth, he wanted more, but was actually amazed to see Cain managed to pass his schooolyear without major problems.

"Well. Not really my favourite Christmas gift, but I guess we won't be having it any better, are we?"

Cain lowered his gaze. Of course he wouldn't get any praise for his highs, only the complaints on his lowers. Charles, reading his mind and feeling his sadness, patted his shoulder lightly once, and with a glance and a small mind command, told Cain where to go so they could be away from Kurt.

Unaware of their interaction, Kurt signed the grade book with a sigh, handing it back to Cain and telling him he was free to go, and that they should be back for dinner.

Both boys nodded, and left away running. Shaking his head, Kurt smiled at the two forgotten suitcases, taking one in each hand and going upstairs, placing them by Cain's bed at the nursery.

Sitting on the foot of the bed, Kurt sighed, wishing he could already bring Raven here. He asked himself how long it would take before anyone denounced the blue baby away. He couldn't trust the house staff in that.

Ironically, perhaps the only one he could ever trust, one day, with such secret, was his telepathic step-son, weren't him so hell-bent in bickering against himself. Concerning Cain, he feared the lad would let the secret slip out of sheer dumbness, and then, them all four would be scientific subjects.

Leaving the nursery to the Master Bedroom, Kurt unlocked it, got in, and locked himself back. He needed time alone, and Raven wouldn't need more dramamine for at least eight hours. He timed the alarm-clock to chime in six hours, just in case he ever fell asleep, he mused, throwing himself heavily on the mattress.

As he dived slowly into the fluff sheets, he pondered that yes, a proper bed would do wonders to his moods. If only he sound proofed the walls and the door and then brought up the crib and....

"And then later WHAT?"

Kurt groaned. Not again.

"Are you becoming a recurrent escapegoat to my loneliness, Brian? Am I mad for life, now? Are you my own private stalker?"

"Try to think of me as your consciousness, Pinnochio. Or the ghost of past Christmas, you decide." The solid pajama wearing Brian, glasses down on his nosebridge, reading some sort of book with his back on the headboard, spoke, very seriously. "I didn't see you praising Cain on his sports grades."

"Sports grades aren't deserving of praise!"

Brian deathglared at him from over his lenses. Kurt actually blinked and lowered his own gaze.

"Sorry."

"I'm not the one you owe apologies to." He closed the book with punishing strenght, and Kurt was amazed to see some dust flying from it, as Brian settled the book back on the side table, adjusting his glasses and looking deep into Kurt's. "He is NOT a natural intelectual genius, and he lacks YOUR resolve to step himself into becoming one, but most importantly, it isn't your fault, it's just who he is, and NOT giving any praise will not help."

He kept his hard stare, until Kurt flinched.

"Right, I will apologise at dinner, now please stop making me feel worse than I already do, don't forget I left a drugged baby downstairs. God, I'm an awful parent, I should be shot at."

 

"Usually I'd joke and throw some bad innuendo at you, but you are damn right. Shame on you, bad parenting indeed!"

"I always said I wasn't cut for this!"

"Unfortunatelly you will have to cut yourself for it, crude diamond stone, you are their only father you want it or not, and I regret deeply not being able to physically take this over from you."

"Of course not, you are a control freak, Brian, you'd breathe for me if you could."

"Actually, I could AND did, and you and I know it felt creepy to order you to breathe in and out." He ran a hand through his own mop of hair. "You infuriating man, you are the cluelest Asperger I ever met, you twat, absolutely no innate social skills." Brian prodded on Kurt's forehead once. "That's why I can't rest in peace and just let myself be dead."

"That and the telepathic sex." He nodded absently. Brian's eyes lighted up with a smile.

"Which reminds me, we have five hours before your clock chimes, wanna a go?"

Kurt shook his head, as Brian gaped.

"The twat asperger here is not horny and is also not a robot and needs to nap, Brian, our Raven is a demanding little thing, and the fact you aren't here alive to make the world turn a blind eye to her brought a huge toll on me, I have to deal with EVERYTHING on my own, the best or worst I can, and sorry if I'm not doing better without you here."

"Oh, yes, blame the dead parent on the blue girl, will you."

Kurt shrugged, flopping on his back, hands behind his head, eyes closed. The Brianesque illusion actually stared dumbfounded by the blatant refusal.

"Are you aware you are turning down the offer of your most dedicated and enthusiastic lover?"

"You have always been my only dedicated and enthusiastic lover, Brian. Marjorie doesn't count, she was neither enthusiastic nor dedicated, and she existed in my other life where I used to think I was hetero, before knowing you and myself any better."

"The fact you don't have parameters to compare me against other men doesn't mean I'm not the best."

"Right, if it feeds your ego, then you are the best, Brian, now If you love me still, let me rest. Tonight is Christmas, I'll have to be up supervising Charles and Cain until we open the gifts, and then I'll be down to feed and change Raven, so I can finally sleep, on the uncomfortable bed down the lab, instead of here."

He caressed absently the mattress, as Brian followed the hand with his eyes, then finally shook his ghostly head, smiling.

"Right, dear, have a nice nap then. Don't forget I'll know if you have apologised to Cain tonight."

"Obviously, Talking Cricket."

As such, vanishing from sight, the solid illusion stole a peck, and the pretending Kurt smiled under his closed eyelids.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Christian's Flat, New York City, 24th December 1938, Saturday night.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The sun had just set behind the courtains as Christian awoke, pack of ice melted on his head, stitched wound throbing on his occipital region, bandaged with a tint of dry blood.

The flat was almost bare except for the bed, a sofa, stove, fridge, toaster, and a huge valve radio, plus a rack of books, a few throw rugs and nearly no décor. Sitting on the bed made him dizzy for a few seconds, then standing up had the same effect.

He hadn't eaten for hours, had packed nothing for christmas dinner, had no one to gift or be gifted from, had set no tree, and for the first time he felt lonelier than he ever had in life.

He didn't feel like changing from his jumpsuit trousers, much less taking a bath, or even changing the dressings of his wound. He had already washed his suit on the building's laundry, and now it hung drying on a corner near the heater.

Flopping on the couch barefoot, he unconsciously rubbed his left hand on the dry wound. It would hurt like hell to unglue it.

Sagging his head down, he sighed. This was going to be the saddest Christmas ever. Not that going for this family was an option, or he even wanted it. He had a sinking feeling his family would only worsen things, as usual.

In thinking running over a car was the best and worst thing he did this week, he smiled weakly. He was lucky not to be broken, but his stupid heart had been shattered like glass.

He knew the tall man was trouble. He couldn't help it. He was sad, sad for not asking him to come up, asking him not to fuck him. Senseless in the car. Currently, even a hug would have mattered. Hell, the handshake felt like heaven. And the goodbye.

Pinching his nosebridge, he cried silently. That was one of the reasons why people suicided, no doubt. He missed Ortega, deported thanks to his father Winston Frost. 

He had a sinking feeling in his chest, the onset of early depression, the utter hopelessness one feels when staring at the dishes to do, the house to clean, the work still to do, and was actually glad he no longer kept liquor around the house. Whenever he drunk he would feel the need to back to other drugs and he didn't want much less needed that.

Loneliness kills slowly, too slowly, and a fall from the 14th floor in a sudden looked so appealing. Pity the safety bars on the windows were bolted in concrete and thus he couldn't jump, unless in pieces.

He most definitely needed to get a cat. Something alive that depended on him to keep going, so he could have reason to keep living. The only downsize would be the poop, but life is never perfect.

Or he could dress up and go for a speakesie. He could walk around and get a male hooker. He could keep daydreaming about the man who almost killed then saved him, and even gave him a phone number to call if there was an emmergency.

His fingers itched to call, but he knew he couldn't ruin a family's Christmas, so he would man it up and dial no one. Right?

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Master Bedroom, New York City, 24th December 1938, Saturday night.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The phone rang in Brian's old studio, as Kurt groaned awoke, alone, on the messed up bed, checking the time in his wristwatch. He should have taken the phone out of the handle before sleeping.

Insistently it rang as he straightened his back and walked there. It had to be Walter calling for dinner. His mother didn't make a habit of calling, and for a second he dreaded the possibility of Sharon trying to call from the Asylum.

"Xavier Residence, Dr. Marko speaking."

A moment of silence, then a hesitant voice spoke.

"It's Dr. Christian Frost speaking, Dr. Marko, I've called to thank you for your help, and to wish you and your family a Merry Christmas."

Kurt deadpanned mute for a full second. He never expected the lad to actually call, much less to be social. Actually, he expected to be sued.

"There was no trouble at all. Are you feeling ill, do you need anything?"

Kurt felt guilty on more than one level already, rolling the phone line in his fingers, looking around the room, hoping a ghostly solid illusionary Brian would NOT be hovering around (he somehow knew Brian would pester him to go for it). He wanted to keep civil and sane and keep pretending hetero, afterall he still had to marry Sharon, no matter how blue or willing would be the eyes behind the land line.

"No, everything's good and well, I really called to express my gratefulness." Lied Christian. He wanted to feel human, and to feel again. He knew it was hopeless, but he had nothing better to do, and found out just now he had no shame in phoning a fianceéd man as well.

"I am glad you are doing fine." Spoke Kurt in a perfect Spock Impression, which was impressive since there was no Star Trek in the 30's. 

For a second Kurt felt like asking if he wanted to have Christmas dinner with the kids, but then refrained from doing it: last time he called a pair of blue eyes home, Hell came loose and Marjorie bit off his jugular in the New Year's Eve.

As such, awkwardly, both ended the conversation rather unwillingly and blatantly lying. Kurt hung the phone on the handle with all his strenght then, destroying it in one go in many pieces, not to mention making a dent on the mahogany table.

"Pity, dear, it was a good phone, and the only marks I ever wanted on this table would be the ones we had left in it. Look, these were my nails there!"

Kurt screamed to the top of his lungs. He was getting mad and no one was there to help him.

"You can't keep scaring me like this, Brian!"

The pajamed Brian shrugged, then smiled, smug.

"I told you I would try and find a way of defeating death, I did."

"Living forever in my mind and thoughts."

"Blame your own self for this, love. You were the one clutching me for dear life, crying and screaming as I withered away. Be glad I am not opposed to your new fling and wouldn't mind taking him over as an avatar."

"I. Do. Not. Have. A. Fling!"

"Sure, and I am not gone and dead." He clasped a hand on the other's shoulder. "Time to get down to dinner. Love you, dear."

A kiss later, and Brian disappeared, leaving Kurt alone in the hall, with no clue on how he left the room in first place, already dressed for the occasion. Christmas night with his two boys. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt is about to face his first family Christmas night with his two boys.


	89. Christmas Plight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of Christmas dawn unfold.
> 
> Warning for dubious consent ahead.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Christian's Flat, New York City, 25th December 1938, Monday morning.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christian didn't sleep that night. He couldn't stop dreaming, and the dreams looked better when he was conscious and recalling the soothing baritone on the other side of the line.

He knew he was fucked up the moment he dialed. He had somehow fallen in love, not merely lust, with the first stranger he met on Christmas, how clichéd was that?

If today wasn't a holiday he would by now be digging up everything he could about this Dr. Kurt Marko. He had to know, he had to read about him, anything, any information, any clue, any actual hope or lack of thereof.

He would begin by Oxford and graduation diplomas, potential marriage certificates or civil partnerships, any possibly sired children or dead spouses. He already knew the contacts to call. He only needed to get to Shaw's Law Firm the next day.

It was the waiting that was killing him. He had to know what chances he had of really getting into his pants or not. He wasn't so stupid to remain platonically in love with a heterosexual man, afterall.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, nursery room, New York City, 25th December 1938, Sunday morning.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Charles sighed heavily while on his bed, left arm holding a stuffed bear, right hand holding his blankets close, staring at the ceiling with tired eyes, once in a while fleeting a glance to the deeply asleep Cain.

Christmas had never felt weirder than last night, he mused. Dinner was uneventful and the food held no appeal, and for a strange reason Kurt was jolly and careless, even. Almost as if his daddy Brian had come from the dead and taken over for the night.

Of course, no Santa Claus delivering the gifts happened, but rather a very odd game of "let's try and find out what is inside this gift" took place, and for the first time the gifts were under the tree before the next morning, but that was somehow fine, for Cain seemed used to such game, and was rather excited about it, guessing all the time and even receiving affectionate smiles from Kurt at his trials.

Not to mention getting full praise for his good sports grades. Most definitely it didn't look like the same Kurt from earlier in the day. Maybe it was Kurt's way of giving a non material gift. Cain seemed stopped dead on his feet for a long while, mind actually blank from lack of trail of thought. He just couldn't proccess that contradictory behaviour as his father's. So he did nothing but thank him mechanically then quickly suggest they guessed the gifts open. Which after a too long full second, Kurt smiled to, nodded and did.

Charles couldn't put a finger on it (namely read Kurt's mind) but from what he read in Cain's brains, this gessing the gift thing was what their usual private, Atheistic Christmas, looked like, boring and without magic, but at least you get to win the gifts you asked for, for sure, and certainly no coal in the socks for anyone.

Although sad for missing the reindeers, Charles decided he could live with life as it was happening. Despite the fact Cain was very emotionally stunted, not to mention slightly stupid for his age, he seemed to be surviving well enough and moderately undamaged so far by his father Kurt and his oddities.

He wiped one single tear and sighed. Maybe all Charles needed was to rebuild his emotional foundation on a new family and to move on. Any ghostly signs of his dad Brian into Kurt's actions were nothing but wishful thinking from a small boy who had lost his daddy a bit too young, afterall.

Almost sleeping again, Charles pondered that once Kurt finally married his mother and everyone was back home, life might get better. Mother surely looked pleased and happy after Kurt had proposed to her.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Asylum, Sharon's room, New York City, 25th December 1938, Sunday morning.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sharon awoke content, cradling a big package addressed to her from the Xavier manor, with Walter's calligraphy.

Before she could complain on the fact that apparently Kurt hadn't sent a gift, she got to read the letter, as her left hand caressed idly the white sleeveless satin gown that was inside the box.

_"Bonjour on this white christmas morning, madam Sharon._

_Following Master Kurt's instructions, here I send you what should be your wedding gown, should you be wise enough to accept it. It was made following the pattern from your first wedding dress, but tailored to your actual frame, according to the measures the Asylum staff sent us, and obviously simpler, beffiting a respectful widow like madam._

_Be sure that Dr. Marko is very interested and intent on marrying you in quite few time. He asked me not to reveal the probable date, so I shall not. He wants it to be a full blown surprise for you._

_Oh, yes. Your boy Charles is good and well, in case you might be wondering. He had been having classes and learning his first school subjects, and shall return into a studying routine once the new year is over. Dr. Marko is a quite responsible austere father._

_Concerning the wedding day, we are ready to receive you back anytime soon. Master says he can hardly wait to have you around so he can finally show you all his heart and feeling._

_Your humble home servant,_

_Walter Langley."_

Sighing like a 12 years old girl, Sharon sank into bed with the gown in arms, hugging it. Idly, she couldn't stop wondering what it would be like being taken by her fiancé when the moment arrived. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, common Hall, New York City, 25th December 1938, Sunday morning.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Kurt stood up from his corner bed at the underground lab, groaning and complaining something about "never getting any work done if he remained around like this for any longer", adjusting his pajamas and home robe, unwrinkling it, eyes not focusing on anything in particular. 

Grumbling about 'being easier to have things done without the constant presence of his stubborn gorgeous ass', he cleared his throat, combing the hair of his head with his fingers, pondering he had no other option but to act on now, before he got insane for good. 

Leaving the lab, resolute, he walked upstairs, in time to get into the nursery and witness Cain full blown onto sleep and Charles apparently sleeping as well. 

At this precise moment, he set his sight into the young lady Fionna, recently reaching 15 years of age, rubbing her brown eyes, brown hair haphazardly spread to every direction, white sleeping gown neatly closed, a white robe falling in place, approaching the door and looking at him, yawning once more. 

"Morning, Master Kurt." 

He nodded, following her out of the room with his eyes, replying it was a good day indeed, carefully closing and locking the nursery behind, walking besides her on the corridor, hands behind his back, as she absently fixed the unruly hair into a small careless braid. 

"The two lads are sleeping just fine since yesterday, in case you might be wondering, sir. Would you like me to tell Walter to send you breakfast at the downstairs office?" 

He mentioned something on never needing to worry about his boys when Fiona was around, and that for once he would appreciate the company, a slightly amused grin in face. She smiled, beaming at Kurt's praise. He was an overall silent man, never available for anyone, resembling much like her own long deceased father. 

Walking silently besides her, he pondered he had only one chance, and needed to make it count, for he would never be able to sum up this amount of willpower and energy again, and it was taking its toll on him. 

He knew what he was going to do was wrong on too many levels. He hoped one day Charles would forgive him. He knew that the moment the plan worked, he would need to go into retreat for a long while. Breathing deeply, he stopped and inhaled the air around him, shaking his head sadly. Fiona raised one eyebrow, stopping too. 

"Master?" 

"Sorry." 

Before she could think on what she heard, she felt herself hopelessly pinned against the wall by a glassy eyed Kurt, who stared impassive and predatory right through her eyes. 

"Master???" 

He raised an index towards her lips, shutting her with a mere gesture, still boring on her irises like lasers coming from his own fogged pupils. 

"Just believe me when I say I am sorry, dear girl. You did right by my boys many times, and it's unfair it has to happen this way, but the ends justify the means, and I need a ride out of here." 

For a second Fiona widened her eyes in horror, as realisation dawned on her: by looking at this dark predator, she just knew she would probably get abused in one way or another, and she had nothing she could do, immobile behind his strenght. 

Nearly voiceless, almost whispering, Fiona pleaded to be let free, and that she would run away and never return, and never open her mouth to the authorities if she could just leave. Kurt smiled darkly, closing his eyes and repeating himself. 

"I'm sorry. Deeply, profoundly sorry, dear." 

She wriggled trying to get free, to no avail, both hands held above her head by one huge hand, body kept against the wall, one leg between her knees, the other spread for balance, his left free hand moving towards her neck and chin, lifting it slightly. 

She couldn't believe he would just take her like this, unceremoniously against the wall at Christmas dawn, a man she had learned to trust because he had been under late Master Brian's graces and on good Walter's recommendations. 

Pleading once again for her virtue and modesty, trembling and starting to cry thick tears down her cheeks, she just couldn't take her eyes from him, between horrified and entranced, as he repeated there was no other way, that he was sorry and he assured it would be quick and she would not feel a thing, neither good or bad, as he claimed her lips with his own and slowly her eyes closed and her soul sinked into itself, her protests dying before leaving her throat, dead silence filling the ill lit hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reasons yet unkown, Kurts takes advantage on 'Fiona the nanny's vulnerability and young age.
> 
> (Is he suddenly turned into a creep, insanity catching in? Will Fiona come out of this situation with her wits intact?)


	90. Time to say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona apparently survives her 'attack', mind blank, taking a life altering decision for everyone.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, nursery room, New York City, 25th December 1938, Sunday morning.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Charles awoke with Fiona's mind scream for help dying into silence. Clutching his hands on the bed covers, he stood up, focusing all his power to understand what could have happened, trying to reach the youth's mind once again.

Appaled, he found out she could no longer be located, mind void filling where her thoughts used to be.

Much like Kurt's mind.

He was about to stand up and search for her, the moment he heard the nursery door being unlocked, and two careful steps come in, the flow of immaculate white sleepwear following suite. Sitting on the bed, he stared very mute at the void-minded young woman before him, eyes cautiously blank, looking at nowhere.

"Fiona? Are you hurt?"

The young girl shook her head slowly, then stared at Charles with an empty expression, between longing and sadness. Opening her arms, she nodded once, as Charles stood up and sank into her embrace for a loong while.

He couldn't understand what happened, but he knew something was very wrong, for he couldn't reach her mind anymore. As such, he had to ask again.

"I am unharmed, my boy. Somewhat heartbroken, but unharmed otherwise. Let me look one last time at you, dear."

He nodded, as Fiona or the shadow of who she had once been, bore her eyes deep into his own, caressing his face, and he leaned into her touch.

"Why last, are you dying on us?"

Fiona snorted one 'in a way, love.', suppressing a smirk. She then looked into his eyes.

"Charles. Dear. Look into this old soul carefully. It will be better for everyone if you all forget about poor Fiona."

Charles narrowed his eyes. He couldn't understand. Strangely, he felt a white hot sensation at the back of his mind, getting buzzed and dizzy for a while, as Fiona held him very close and whispered she would miss them all dearly, but she had to leave.

Kissing the top of his head, she snapped her fingers once, stopping Charles dead on his track, glassy eyed, rotating her right hand index around its axis in the air, as the boy moved 180 degrees and obeyed the silent command blindly, returning to his bed, back into deep sleep.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, main master suite, New York City, 25th December 1938, Sunday afternoon.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door creaked open slowly, as two feet stepped loudly in high heeled scarpins onto the room, approaching the main bed, where the unconscious form also known as Kurt Marko remained immobile, under the bedcovers.

Coming close and touching both hands on the mattress, the young woman dressed in formal attire, holding a full suitcase, hair tailored in a classic bun, a furcoat in her back, clearly taken from Sharon's wardrobe, stared down the seemingly sleeping man, teary eyed.

She knew he would be awaking soon. She timed the doped hours in his mind before transfering to the borrowed 'ride', for she knew that last mind command would be the last she could issue him before having to leave. His shielding was just too damn good to be broken or invaded from outside, without the ingrained DNA key.

"I'm sorry to you too, dear. I wish I could have remained, but I have one unfinished business to resolve, even if I must move down to hell and back to get it done."

Kurt groaned in his sleep, shifting on his side. The young woman raised her right hand to touch his shoulder, gripping it firmly until her knuckled were white, lips pursed.

"You have no idea how hard it is to go. I..."

She swallowed dry, moving her index to her nosebridge, adjusting a non-existant pair of spectacles, blinking tears, then checking on her wristwatch.

Leaning down, she gave Kurt one last lingering kiss, right hand carding through his hair then gripping it and tilting his still unconscious face, inhaling deeply, eyes closed, before tearing herself away and almost running out of the room and down the halls with the suitcase in hands, cursing the high heels for difficult balance as she left the house towards the garage.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Garage, New York City, 25th December 1938, Sunday afternoon.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Opening it, she found the house driver almost inside the hood of the older grey chrysler, a 1935 Airstream sedan. 

The dark skinned man stood up, looking at her.

"Miss, what are you doing down here on these clothes?"

She blinked, tilting her head to the right.

"Anything wrong with my clothes, Malcolm?"

He faced her, looking up and down.

"Looks like you are trying to look older and running away. What Walter would say if he found you like this?? Shouldn't you be up with the boys?"

Fiona rolled her eyes, smirking. Walter did have a couple of nasty comments on her clothes of choice before he fell under her 'magic' and went sleeping, numb. 

"Relax, Malcom. Give me the keys to the Airstream, I have a road to take."

"You, drive? Since when??? Master Kurt will..."

She squinted at him, his voice going silent, a snicker creeping up her face, as she outstretched her hand. Malcolm put his hand into his pocket, retrieving the requested keys, then stepping out of her way, as Fiona placed the suitcase on the back seat and proceeded to inspect the car briefly, kicking the tires lightly, nodding in approval.

"As usual, excellent work with the tires, lad. Fortunately for you, the loss of this car will not be felt. I'll miss this garage."

Absently caressing the black satin skirt that flowed to the middle of her calves, revealing skin tone silk stockings, that ended on the scarpin, Fiona stopped to check the hour on the golden wristwatch that once belonged to Sharon, sighed deeply, waving a hand at the driver, who was standing up and staring at nowhere, like a british royal guard.

"Dismissed, son. Take leave and open the gates for me, before I lose my courage to go."

Malcolm nodded slowly, saluting then walking out to obey the command. Fiona pinched her nosebridge, opening the car door, removing the high heels and replacing them with an old feminine horse riding pair of boots.

Adjusting the rear mirror to her current height, she looked at it for a full minute, shaking her head, showing her teeth in a grin and huffing once, sending a full mind command of FORGET to the whole household, starting the car, accelarating full force, drifting the tires and making dense striped marks on the ground, leaving the garage soundly.

Waving a salute with the left hand in the air, she rested the left elbow on the open driver window, driving only with the right hand at the steering wheel, never looking behind, as Malcolm saluted back, closing the gates and the Airstream Chrysler drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiona leaves Westchester, erasing all her traces, leaving the boys without any emotional support.


	91. Crawling in my skin...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christian Frost gets a hint on the true nature of Kurt's Future Marriage.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Shaw's Law Firm, New York City, 19th February 1939,Thursday morning.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christian was deeply engrossed reading a myriad of papers he received from Oxford, trying to reach Kurt's current location, blindly focusing all his attention, until the moment a voice clearing its throat called his attention.

"Dr. Frost?"

He raised his eyes, finding his employer's gaze on him. Quickly standing up, his attention was caught up by the thick folder on his hands.

"Would you be so kind as to wrap up these Xavier papers? The Xavier widow is getting remarried to one of our clients, and we need to send these papers into Court, to ensure the civil marriage will be happening within the month."

Christian grumbled a curt 'certainly, sir', taking the two folders, absently opening them. Before he could curse the intromission into his personal search, he stalled his breath, hands going cold before the thinner folder.

God damn bitch.

Sharon Schmidt, re-christened Xavier upon her marriage with Brian Xavier in 14 May 1931, widowed in 12 July 1938, was about to contract her second marriage with Kurt Marko, widower from the disappeared, presumed dead, Marjorie Marko.

Christian had huge eyes on the paper, reading avidly the small resumé, for everything he could possibly have ever wanted to know on Kurt Marko, except for the apparent confirmation that his fears were true and the man was not only heterosexual but had one child, and was a widower on his way to his second marriage.

Sagging in place, Christian nearly cried at the resumé that Dr. Shaw wrote, staring for a while at the closed folders.

After a full minute, remembering the white Chrysler, he sighed, closing Kurt's folder, ready to give up on his search, the moment a neatly designed and patternred document on golden ingraining and lamb's pelt fell on the ground.

Inhaling deeply, before even reading the document, he slowly opened the main Kurt folder, deciding his resumé might have missed some crucial detail. Hope is the last to die, right? He had to read it and make his own conclusions.

Red flags shone into his sight as he meticulously read and re-read the lamb's pelt.

It was a Civil partnership.

A goddamned civil partnership.

Involving his current obsession, Dr. Kurt Marko.

With no one less than the same and very much dead, thank you, Dr. Brian Xavier.

Who happened to have been his long term research partner in Alamogordo.

Quickly taking hold of the even thicker folder named 'Brian Xavier', which had a huge DECEASED print in red colours on its front, Christian skimmed through the papers, finding the Oxford Graduation documents, a couple of pension funds destined to the mansion's employees, and finally got to the many papers, all very recent, no longer than one year old, where the persona of Kurt was mentioned in full praise and warranties.

Tutor of choice of his only son Charles Francis Xavier (instead of his own wife, how odd), under a 'civil and science partnership', sharing a house rent (fully paid by Xavier funds) for the latest year in Alamogordo, plus the termination of Kurt's own old rent by the same Xavier accounts, not to mention a couple of joint expenditures and frequent airplane trips. Together. Not to mention in Kurt's folder that he was found alive clutching the dead corpse of Brian Xavier after the fire that killed him in Alamogordo, and was taken with a broken arm to the hospital, where the Shaw Firm took his personal will.

It would be too much wishful thinking, not to mention too excentric even for the Xavier standart, but weren't Christian so sure that a man like Kurt was nothing but a full hetero man seeking marriage to a supposedly rich widow, he would need to heavily consider a thinly conceived homosexual relationship between both men.

Christian rolled his eyes, hands absently caressing the two folders, the Sharon one now forgotten. 

Would it be really too far-fetched?

Afterall, Kurt had also been rewarded upon Brian's death with a full pension fund, enough to make anyone stupidly rich, not to mention full rights to access the manor until Charles came of age. Not to mention the 'rich' widow had been excluded from every single heritage and funds, and had rights only to the thin cash she brought from her own family upon marrying, and even got interned into an asylum during the last year.

Which meant that besides Charles, it was Kurt, not Sharon, the true heir to the Xavier cash. And that it was Sharon that Brian wished to get away from.

Interesting twist of events, smirked Christian, almost mechanically wrapping up the marriage papers between Kurt and Sharon. The shunned upon widow marrying her husband's lover to get back into her own house and previous life of riches. The 'true' widower taking up the widow to conveniently remain around the manor and taking care of his beloved's kid, without raising further suspicions.

It would look like a bad harlequinn romance, weren't it more and more suspiciously looking like the truth.

It was also looking slightly too good to be true.

What would Christian say Kurt when he ever met him again? "Hi, remember me, the guy who barreled against your inherited white Chrysler? My deepest condolences for losing the rich and influential love of your life, but would you be so kind as to shag me senseless every day of my life lest I might tell your convenience wife that you were her husband's lover during the latest year?" 

Somehow Christian knew the best approach wouldn't involve threatening Kurt, if he wanted to get the impressive 6' feet tall man anywhere near his pants, preferably in a very good way. 

Not to mention so far he had nothing but a series of coincidences and probabilities, still needing somewhat of a confirmation before he could even dream upon having him on his sheets.

Sighing, he shook his head, making sure to take notes on the date of said Marriage. This was an event he didn't plan on losing, at all.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
London's Jewelry and Eyewear, New York City, 19th February 1939, still morning.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So you are saying these mere five pair of glasses will take two full weeks to be prepared."

"Yes, madam. Considering you want FIVE, not to mention them all made in London and air-mailed, tailored to the fits of a DEAD client, this is the smallest deadline possible."

Fiona hufffed, complaining bitterly to herself 'it had been so hard to reach her old optometrist, and now this other delay, how eventful', as the shop seller stared down at her, and she tapped her fingers angrily over the counter.

"Right then, then let me see the rings and earrings. Gold, pearls and diamonds, stick to the classics if you may. Time is gold, lad, so rush. I still need to fuel the car before keeping my shopping day out. I might reach Marcy's sometime, I'm not sure yet. So many options, so few fingers."

The man showed up the many cashes of extremely expensive jewels without hesitation, as she looked upon them and tried them on before the mirrors seemingly uninterested, but keeping a thinly veiled smile. She had never had the pleasure of going drag in her previous life and it surely had its appeals. For a second she pondered she would certainly look bettter in a female blue eyed version of her older self. Hopefully she would soon leave her actual shell.

"Do I look respectable? Respectably stunnning and certainly edible?"

"...I beg your pardon, madam?"

Fiona sighed. She hated stupidity. She missed intelligent conversation. Specially the kind that would not need to be erased afterwards.

"Allow me to be crass. I need to know! Do I look fuckable, but never slutty? He hates slutty. I tried, and he just wouldn't get up. My bad, I guess. He's so much of a prude sometimes!"

The man gulped. What sane red blooded hetero man hated slutty? She rollled her eyes.

"Don't tell me you are gay, lad. Not that there is a problem with that. You are cute, I give you that. I... We might have done you in another life. Before. It would have been a threesome, you see, I'm possessive like this, you wouldn't touch him without me. I'm still trying to figure in which end I would have wanted to fit you in, love."

"...it's not that, milady, I mean, I'm not used to..."

"...yeah. Got it. To a so too forward woman like me. I knew I'd do a terrible job as a woman, dear, but you know something, I'm working hard into going back to who I had once been, which is why I will need the glasses, all them FIVE, so it will be eventually solved. Until then, I'm balls deep stuck, and not in a good way, got it? Trust me when I say this was my only ride out. Not my favourite choice of shell, either. So I'm trying to make the best out of it, without doing anything too regrettably stupid all the way. Like getting pregnant from a random stranger, so surprise, I'm a virgin in this shell and I plan to keep it like this, so hands out!! Trust me, this is a road I once witnessed and surely it is as bad as it looks. And I was willing to take my responsibility on the child, and no, it wasn't a random stranger, but the love of my life! I survived literally living inside his head but you know, I was making him mad and it would end up baaaaadly. I fear I might have already damaged his brain enough though. On another trail of thought, Imagine if I weren't a responsible dad, and the... ahem, mother would be left all alone. On this. Like he ended up being left. Which is why I'm trying to return. At least there was the secret lab available. So many mistakes, damn it. My poor Raven. Oh well."

The shop seller kept his 'huh?' glare. Secret? Virgin? Two mothers? A Lab? Would he witness Jesus, or in this case, Raven, perhaps in some sort of Black Sorcery Lesbian Celebration way, coming? 

Fiona rolled her eyes, realised she had once again talked too much, then snapped her fingers in the air once. The man got immediatelly glassy eyed, mute and still. He finally spoke.

"London's Jewelry and Eyewear is pleased to grant you these in full courtesy, madam. You are always welcome for more, no charge."

Fiona dismissed him with her waving hand in the air, then smiled cruellly at her sight in the mirror, adjusting the dark hair around her ears as her brown eyes squinted and she admired the gold diamond earrings, the pearl necklace and the pearled golden rings. Now it was time for some proper clothing. Dressing like Sharon was taking her appetite away, not to mention making her look like 20 years older and she certainly had no wish to look like that fucking damn harpie anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes 'Fiona' talks too much.


	92. Taking over me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 19th February still goes on...

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Westchester, Underground Lab, New York City, 19th February 1939, thursday afternoon.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Kurt Marko followed the dull routine of feeding a blue skinned infant and doing everything for her all alone on his own. He couldn't stop pondering there was something lacking in his life and mind sometime since Christmas.

For a start, he had no more hallucinations involving Brian. A couple of vey welcome wet dreams, certainly, but they all had the 'dream' quality of feel that the previous period hallucinating did NOT hold, being them all painstakingly fucking real and emotion-charged back then.

Now all he held was the sweet memory of the good side of Brian, not the pain in the ass he could be when he wanted to. Kurt thought that he might be recovering from his emotional loss and finally was becoming able to deal with life and everything, maybe even the new relationship, albeit fake, he would now have to hold from a few months on in the future, with his behated Sharon.

He sighed, waiting for the now considerably more plump and grown up 03 month old Raven to burp. As far as he knew, Cain was doing just fine in school and somehow learned to read and scribble a bit, despite his palpable dumbness. So far only Charles had been bothering him up, and the kid knew precisely which buttons to press whenever wished.

How ironic that the kid that looked the more like himself would be precisely the one NOT genetically linked, thought Kurt bitterly. Charles hated the horses with a passion but excelled in riding them after a while, and would refuse to show failure, most probably out of spite, more than anything. He would even dare to invite Kurt to race against him, and obviously Kurt went with him and made sure to lose everytime, even the few times he could have won in the beginning.

Now he legitimaly couldn't win anymore, for he never had access to those beasts when he was poorer, and just had never rided when young. Not to mention the weight factor, since Kurt actually weights four times more than the boy, and was actually glad of not needing to fake anymore losing.

Of course, openly praising Charles didn't get him anywhere. The kid would scowl like the good spoiled brat he was, and just comment he was sucking up to him because he would lose the rights to the manor if he wasn't properly tutored.

Rich brats and their big egos, he sighed.

Yesterday Kurt HAD to reply. He could be cold and seemingly emotionless, but it was just too much bile from such a brat to stand. Charles just had NO IDEA on his own emotional investment on Kurt being there in the first place and on how painful it was to favour his beloved Brian's boy before his own, who would certainly have benefited of closer and personal tutoring as well.

As such, he had to scream, and yell, and order him out and away from the door of the Lab, and even needed to open the door, take a deep glare at him and finally threaten to take his belt out for a beating he didn't intend on following, in order to get Charles wide eyed and running the opposite direction.

He was happy he didn't need to do anything else. He hated his own memories of his dad beating him up, and they certainly didn't make Kurt respect the long deceased old man at all.

Nodding with a smile to himself, he was happy to hear the loud BURP next to his left ear. Good girl, very good girl indeed. All he needed now was to make Time fly away and the date of marriage to arrive, so he could finally set his own future in motion.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Salem Asylum, Inpatients Ward, New York City, 19th February 1939, thursday afternoon, later.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sharon, you have a visitor."

She quit her draydream with a thud, falling gracelessly on the ground from the chair she had been sitting at, in her own quarters, as the male voice screamed outside her door. 

Quickly hiding the liquor under her pillows, adjusting mildly her hair and taking one last glance to her engagement band, she smiled, speaking with the most sweet tone that whoever it was, could come in. She deeply hoped it would be Kurt.

It wasn't without doubt and surprise that she found the young face of Fiona, an unreadable smirk in her eyes but not in her lips, dressed like a young respectable lady, without a single trace that might connect her to...

"Why would I have any need of being connected in any way to your style or lack of thereof or whatever, Sharon?"

Sharon stared mute, gaping, as Fiona snickered, stepping close the bed, raising the pillows and taking the liquor bottle away. Sharon widened her eyes and attemped to stop her, but found herself glued on her own feet to the ground.

"Great asylum we have here, drinks, entertainment... If I had any idea things were like this, I would have made sure you would remain at Westchester. I'm not surprised though, afterall, this was Dr. Chandra's bright idea!"

Sharon blinked. Fiona nodded, throwing the bottle to the ground, splintering it.

"... Who sent you, girl! Who did? Was it Walter??? Are you his accomplice as well???"

Fiona gritted her teeth, slapping Sharon's face once, bringing a deep cut on her left cheek, caused by a sharp diamond gold ring.

She suppressed a scream, holding her left hand up her face, blood dripping from the wound, grumbling in between tears why the fuck she was here, as Fiona stepped closer, a wide grin in face.

Sharon blinked, slowly, trying uselessly to move her feet and step away from her unwanted visitor, both feet heavy and glued to the ground. Fiona smirked to her, taking a tissue from her pocket, cleaning up the blood off the diamond ring. There was no other explanation other than that this Fiona bitch snapped crazy, for sure.

" Crazy? Oh, Sharon, I am not the one asylumed here. If anything, the insane snapping crazy bitch is you."

Sharon rolled the pattern of speech in her tongue, silently, trying to think on where she heard similar reasoning of words before. These weren't the words from a 15 something nanny. 

"Go on, keep trying to use this mindfogged brain of yours for a change. This actually amuses me. _A reprise, pour moi, encore!_ "

Fiona stepped closer, closing her mouth and boring her eyes deep down Sharon's blue ones; a chillling bluish mind wave hit her in pulses as her drunken brain was filled with icy cold dread, and an old known voice echoed solely to her thoughts, greeting her with a cynical salute.

At that old known mind voice, Sharon screamed like mad, gritting her head between both hands. Not again. Not here! How come???? 

Deeply amused, Fiona threw her head backwards and laughed wholeheartedly, laughter shadowed by Sharon's maddened screechs asking for help, from anyone, while outside her room the whole asylum had been sent into a time-stopping kind of 'spell', all inpatients and orderlies and anyone in hearing range frozen still and completely unable to interfere.

Realising how utterly alone she was, Sharon started losing her strenght and her screams died in her throat, as she stepped out of her previously frozen spot, unsteadly, tripping on her feet and falling face flat on the shards of glass over the puddle of abysint, sobbing. Out of the shadows Fiona knelt down, shaking her head.

"How come, I wager, you could come so low, so dirty, so cheap?" She put a finger on her lower lips "I forget, you were always cheap. Tsk tsk." She smirked "Oh, dear, you are aware I could rescue you from it all, right?"

Sharon nods weakly, face flat at the ground. Fiona continues.

"I could have done us all a great favour, reclaiming your shell as mine and returning the easy way home, but looking at you now... you want to know something? I would spiral down into alcoholic vice and lesbian damnation faster in your shell than I might into a juvenile hooker's body. So I fear it's a no, I'm afraid. Home is a fate you shall face on your own."

Sharon was too scared to reply that she was going to be RESCUED by Kurt and finally be happy again, fearing to rise that witch's anger at her. Fiona seemed to have caught on her thoughts and just smiled.

"Sure, darling. Who am I to interfere in your dreams?" Fiona adjusted her wavy hair behind both ears. "I have a feeling I need do nothing special about your current situation, at all. In truth, I indeed have better stuff to do right now. _Au revoir, ma chérie._ Enjoy."

Blowing a kiss in the air, Fiona left the room waving the gayest goodbye her wrist could handle being waved, leaving with a wink and a crooked smile.

Minutes took place before Sharon could stand from the ground, her limbs feeling like made of lead. Her head pounded heavily and for the first time in a long time it wasn't rebound effect from alcohol. Feeling for her face, she walked unsteadly to the mirror, holding a curse as she faced the minute cuts from the glass plus the deep diamond cut on her left cheek. She was certainly going to need to heal before her nuptials came by, and was glad for having to wear a veil that would certainly conceal most of the damage by then.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Shaw's Law Firm, New York City, 19th February 1939, thursday, ungodly hours of the night.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christian Frost remained at the office, reading and re-reading avidly all the information he could put his hands into about Kurt Marko. He had finished sending the marriage license and papers up for publication at the newspapers, and now could officially enjoy learning everything he could, only to be startled in the middle of the ill-lit room by a...

"Hello, love."

Jumping on his feet and taking hold of a baseball bat, swingint it blindly once, Christian managed somehow to cover up half the room in one step, breathing heavily. The ominous silence was cut again by the purring female voice.

"Jumpy. I like that in a man."

Eyes adjusting to darkness as he outlined the well dressed shape of a small framed woman, he felt suddenly blind as said woman turned the light switch on, and he cursed once, low. She smiled, eyes raking up and down his frame.

"What are you doing here, miss? Isn't it a bit too late for a decent lady to be walking around the buildings and startling strange men on a building full of closed offices?"

Christian heard the young woman snort, predatory glare on her eyes, as she walked around him, sizing him.

"You tell me, love. You know, I can perfectly understand the appeal you had. Must congratulate him on his impeccable taste." 

She made vague gestures and shapes with her hands in the air, as he stared in confusion. She winked.

"Sure, love, not too tall, not too thin, aristocratically fit, indeed. No spectacles, I'm afraid. Pity, he has a weakness for them." She sighed. Christian lowered the bat for a second, then raised the bat above his shoulders once more, breath stalling, and she kept talking. "Love, I'm afraid you will have to do."

He blinked, keeping a 'huh?' glare. Do? Do what? Fiona rested her hand on her chin, contemplating a myriad of inappropriate thoughts in her head.

"Thank you, but no, I must decline, dear..It would be an easy way out though, and even easier way back, and certainly better than Fiona herself or even Sharon. However, neither solution would fulfill my need to be back whole."

Pondering she wouldn't have opportunity better than now to act, she closed her eyes, raising her open left hand in the air, as Christian's blue orbs went still, fogged and she closed her eyes, for a full second, then collapsed on the ground, as the lawyer's body jerked back and forward, nearly tripping on his own feet.

Cursing a loud 'Fuck!', he shook his head, gritting both temples in hands, blinking his fogged eyes as he braced himself against the desk, sparing a weak glance towards his borrowed ride laying on the ground.

He had to act fast. He couldn't overcome this mind without losing control over the other for long, so he would need to tamper with the good lawyer, enough to make him useful, but not enough as to the point of removing his personality.

He had learned the hard way how NOT to make people do his bidding. The poor girl on the ground paid with her consciousness, and would eventually pay with her sanity, the longer he made use of the borrowed shell.

As such, quickly scanning the recesses of Christian's mind as he finished his self imposed task, for the first time glad he could learn and execute his plans without damaging Kurt's mind, actually wiped a tear and almost succumbed to the urge of staying in this shell.

Actually, the only thing preventing him of staying was no one less than Kurt himself. The lawyer was better of as a separate entity for now.

Finally sitting on an armchair with Christian's shell, sighing, he slowly closed his foggy eyes as this shell went limp, and on the ground a few steps away, Fiona blinked back into life, standing up and dusting off her dress.

"Lucky bastard, blondie, I envy you so much. Certainly a cutie you are, but damaged goods. Nothing's ever perfect, though, isn't it? One way or another, you'll have to do. Not that you get to have any say or complaints on your fate, afterall."

Passed out, Christian only breathed shalowly in lack of response. 

Fiona smirked, flipping through the 'Kurt' folder for a few seconds, then slamming it shut against the desk with a mad grin, a mix of jealously, anger and regret, heart aching as she left the room running, mind flooded with a specific date and also the memories from a past existence, long ago lost beneath the sands, behind a dusty last kiss, under the desert setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like mindfucking unsuspecting paws into mental submission, to make a girl very happy indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Cast and Crew:
> 
> \------------------------------  
> Kurt Marko - Loren Dean  
> \---------------------------------  
> Brian Xavier - Ewan Mcgreggor  
> \----------------------------------  
> Christian Frost - Chris Pine  
> \----------------------------------  
> Irene Adler - Susan Sarandon  
> \----------------------------------  
> Walter Langley - Bruce Greenwood  
> \-----------------------------------  
> Marjorie Marko - Dita Von Teese  
> \-----------------------------------  
> Sharon Xavier - Hope Davis  
> \-----------------------------------  
> Nathan Mildbury - Hugh Laurie  
> \-----------------------------------  
> Amanda Mueller - Judi Dench  
> 


End file.
